


Irreplaceable

by orphan_account



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2009-2010 Season, Frottage, Jonny's infamous tattoo, M/M, Smut, part two added for the BFE bang!, possessive Kaner, post cup win
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-06-26 06:53:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15658035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Pat has seen Jonny naked of course. He’s seen him in less dignifying moments than he would care to admit. And on a far more regular basis. Which is why he laughs out loud when he skims through the July edition of the Blackhawks magazine that he’s found lying around in his living room and gets hung up on the monthly section of “pick a teammate”. Jonathan Toews having the best tattoo? A solid lie. Patrick knows Kopecky, and he can practically see him laughing his ass off while sending his bullshit answers to the editor. Good one. He chuckles, turns the page, and forgets about it. Only he doesn’t.Based off of this post: http://darthtulip.tumblr.com/post/60759894363/captainfantoewstic-peekaabooHeidii19 made some amazing art for part 2 of this story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16908936





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of all I apologize for the least creative title ever :D 
> 
> This is my first work for this fandom and I am so excited to share it! Thank you alittlebitobsessed and fenweak for betaing! :)
> 
> There is now a second part to this! And some INCREDIBLE art by heidii19: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16908936 (spoilers for part 2)

Pat has seen Jonny naked of course. He’s seen him in less dignifying moments than he would care to admit. And on a far more regular basis. 

They’re teammates. They shower together more often than not. They’ve been sharing a hotel room on the road for over a year now. Pat is fairly sure that at this point, there’s nothing he hasn’t seen. 

Jonny’s naked yoga. His aversion to sleeping in his boxers. The way he throws them across the room at Pat’s face whenever he complains about him climbing into his king sized bed butt naked. Hell, Pat has even seen him skype his family in Winnipeg without wearing so much as Calvin Kleins for some decency. No, Patrick knows what Jonny looks like naked. He might even be the one person who knows best.

Which is why he laughs out loud when he skims through the July edition of the Blackhawks magazine that he’s found lying around in his living room and gets hung up on the monthly section of “pick a teammate”. Fucking Kopecky. Of course he’d find it hilarious to throw a rumor like that out into the world of drooling hockey groupies. 

Jonathan Toews having the best tattoo? A solid lie. Patrick knows Kopecky, knows what a little shit the guy can be, and he can practically see him laughing his ass off while sending his bullshit answers to the editor. Good one. 

He chuckles, turns the page, and forgets about it. Only he doesn’t. 

He spends the evening in his condo, lounging out on the balcony, basking in the Chicago sun. They’ve just won the cup. It’s the first time he’s been sober for two days straight ever since they defeated Philly, and he desperately needs some time to let it sink it. It has been a crazy week of partying it up, with the entire city of Chicago cheering them on. He’s never been happier in his life, but it’s a lot to take in. 

Pat stretches out on the sun deck and lets the last week pass by in his head, smiling at all the shit the team got up to. He’s going to miss this. He only has a week left in Chicago before he’s off to Buffalo to spend the summer with his family and friends he basically hasn’t seen all year. He loves going home, but he’s already desperate to be back on the ice in fall. 

It’s already been weird this week, not being woken up by Jonny barging into his bedroom to pull him out of bed and into his Mercedes for morning skate. Not to spend the majority of the day either on the ice or on the way there, always waiting around in hotel rooms and locker rooms just to get out there again for another win. It’s been a good season, there have been lots of wins. And a lot of Jonny. 

As much as Pat hates to admit it, and no matter how many times he yelled at Jonny during their rookie season that he couldn’t wait to get out of his sight once the season ended, they both know what they have in each other. They know it’s more than just their identical contracts and the way they’ve merged into one giant hockey persona by the media this last season.

That’s a huge part of it of course. They basically are inseparable by now. Not by choice, but it’s also not something they’d want to have any other way. It’s taken a while, but Patrick has accepted his doom. His name is going to be inextricably linked with Jonny’s for the rest of his career. And possibly after that, too. 

Jonny has his flaws. Basically, his entire person is one big flaw that should have never left Winnipeg to be unleashed on the world. But Pat also loves him. He doesn’t know how he got there, but he couldn’t imagine doing any of this without Jonny. Damn, being newly sober after a week of intoxication and sleep deprivation is making him sappy. 

He picks up the magazine again and finishes scanning Kopecky’s answers on “have you ever”. It’s worthless press, worse than Deadspin at times, but Patrick still reads it. They all do. They have their fun with the “pick a teammate” section. Although Pat still can’t get over the fact that Jonny called him out on being the one to call his mom every day when obviously that’s him. He calls her naked, which is worse. 

Pat doesn’t get a lot of time to himself before his phone rings and Jonny’s name appears on the screen. At least Pat is not alone in how he is slightly obsessed with his other half. 

“Hey, man,” he picks up the phone. “What’s up?” 

Jonny ignores his question. Or maybe he didn’t hear him. There’s voices in the background, talking over loud music. It sounds like he’s at a bar or something. 

“Kaner? You there?” Jonny yells.

“I’m always there for you, Jonny,” he quips.

“Funny,” Jonny deadpans. “What are you up to?” It sounds like he’s leaving the party behind and Pat can hear a door slamming shut on some of the noise. That’s definitely Duncs dying of laughter in the background though, so he doesn’t have to ask Jonny the same. 

“Just chilling. Sobering up,” he says while he already sits up on his deck chair. 

“Well get your lame ass over here then, the party’s not over.” 

This is arguably Pat’s favorite thing about being a Stanley Cup winner. Right after it being a life assurance on never having to struggle with picking up girls again. Witnessing Jonny let go like this. He’s gone two years being the responsible one, keeping up that grave face of his that is certain to ruin any fun. Sure, he joined the team after home wins just like everyone else did, but he never really managed to forget about his position as captain and his responsibility. He’s still been the first at the rink the next morning, no matter how excruciating the hangover, lecturing them about the game and preparing them for the next one. 

Pat loves Serious Jonny. He drives Pat crazy, but he appreciates him nonetheless. Jonny is what the team needs, what Pat needs. But right now, this last week, Jonny has for the first time been what he himself needs. Pat has never seen him loose like this, has never seen him curse and drink and embarrass himself as much. If Pat can have another night of this, he’s gonna follow Jonny anywhere. 

“Where you at?” he asks while he walks back into his condo and grabs his shorts on the way to the bathroom. Jonny sure has rubbed off on him. 

“Mine. Bring more doritos, will you? This was supposed to be low key but now it’s not.” 

“Sure,” Pat nods. “Don’t wear them out before I get there.”

Jonny laughs at the other end of the line and Pat’s stomach jumps at the sound. Jonny deserves this win, this happiness, like no one else does. He’s worked his entire life for it, and Pat loves that he’s there to witness the relief, the aftermath of it. This is his favorite Jonny by far. 

He hangs up on him to get dressed and douses himself in expensive cologne. Then he’s off, driving first to the store and then over to Jonny’s. He doesn’t live far and Pat has driven this route approximately a million times during the last two years. One time, he got so drunk he accidentally gave the cab driver Jonny’s address instead of his own. He has a key to the place just like Jonny has a key to his, and he passed out on the couch feeling right at home in between Jonny’s stuff. 

When he gets there today, it’s not Jonny who opens the door for him. Instead, he’s pulled into a chokehold by Sharpy and has his hair ruffled. He tries to complain, but damn, it’s loud. The guys have the music turned all the way up, the doors and windows are open, and they’re lounging around the flat in various states of post cup drunkenness and stupidity. 

Pat makes his way over to the kitchen to drop off the junk food he’s brought and it’s where he finds Jonny, stocking up the fridge with beer that must’ve arrived shortly before Patrick did. Kopecky is leaning against the kitchen counter, watching.

“’sup, Kaner?” Jonny asks and pats him on the shoulder with an approving nod towards the bags of chips he drops on the counter. Like he’d ever touch them. Pat smiles at him, at his disheveled and slightly sweaty hair, his rosy cheeks, and his freshly shaven face. He looks happy. 

Kopecky hands him a beer like he lives there, looking, like they all do, like some kind of comatose teenager after his first hangover. None of them have really been sober since the win and Pat knows it’s been long enough, but he still accepts the bottle with a “thanks”. As long as Jonny think it’s fine, he knows it is. If Jonny’s still drinking, Pat is. No way is he gonna break before he does.

“So, low key, huh?” he states, looking around the condo. The place is a mess. At least half the Hawks are gathered around the flatscreen watching some highlight reel from the playoffs while cheering for themselves. There’s guys on the balcony chatting up girls Pat doesn’t know yet, and Sharpy is back at the beer pong table now, yelling loudly before knocking back a cup of something gross. 

“You know how it is,” Jonny shrugs his shoulders. “You invite one and they bring the rest and five girlfriends.” He sounds sober to Pat, but then again, drunk Jonny never really makes an appearance before he has one drink too many and suddenly gives everyone bedroom eyes and starts drawling shit about hockey stats, making it sound weirdly seductive.

“Yeah,” Kopecky slurs. “We’re rockstars now. Where the team goes, the rest of Chicago goes. Doesn’t get any less fun the second time around. This is the best damn thing that has ever happened to me, I swear.” 

Jonny nods in agreement and Patrick backs him up with a hum that neither of them can probably hear over the sound of Kanye’s voice coming from the speakers. 

“Was that the doorbell?” Jonny asks as he slams the fridge shut. Pat didn’t hear anything but he’s also been busy laughing at the way Kopecky now tries to open another bottle of beer with his teeth. 

“You better check, captain,” Kopecky orders. “Maybe it’s strippers. Please let it be strippers.”

Jonny rolls his eyes at him but he leaves them in the kitchen nonetheless. If only he did what Patrick wanted him to do that easily only half of the time. Pat takes a sip of his beer and watches as he makes his way over to the door, his white tank top hugging his body just right. It’s when he remembers the hilarity that is half of Chicago freaking out over where their captain is hiding that tattoo Kopecky promised them. 

“Dude,” he laughs. “Tazer being inked? Good one.” 

Pat likes a good laugh. Especially when it’s on the expanse of the press that is already too far up their asses all the damn time. But Kopecky doesn’t get it. He only raises his eyebrows at Pat in question, like he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. It really is time for them all to sober up before they lose their last good brain cells, Pat thinks. 

“Blackhawks mag. Pick a teammate?” he urges him, but Kopecky only shakes his head. 

“What’s so funny?” Kopecky is dead serious, like the whole joke goes right above his head. 

Pat sighs. “Nevermind,” he says at the same time as Kopecky asks: “You don’t agree?”

“Huh?” 

“Tazer’s ink is rad,” Kopecky states. He finally manages to open the beer bottle on the countertop. It leaves a mark in the covering that Pat knows Jonny is gonna bitch about later. 

He’s thoroughly confused by now. There’s so much bullshit coming from his teammates, he’d usually brush it off. But the way Kopecky looks at him all huge, blue eyes that show honest praise makes him frown. 

He knows it’s a joke. If anyone knows it for certain, it’s Pat. He’s been around naked Jonny more than he has been around dressed Jonny. So he only frowns and knocks back his beer, trying to catch up to his teammates that now start stripping off a piece of clothing every time the goal lights up on Jonny’s flatscreen. 

…

 

It’s embarrassing how little it takes for Pat to be thoroughly wasted again. Although it’s probably not only the booze but also the high of winning that makes him feel this good. He gets dragged into the team’s ridiculous game of undressing and yelling in Tazer’s living room and rolls with it. For a while he forgets all about Kopecky and his bullshit until he shows up right next to him, wearing nothing but boxers and socks.

“Seriously, Taze doesn’t do tats,” Pat slurs as he puts a sweaty arm around his teammate, his head all fuzzy and slow. He can’t remember why this matters right now. He just has to get it out there. 

“Dude,” Kopecky sounds just as drunk. It’s a miracle he hasn’t passed out at this point. “I’m telling you, it’s rad. Like, the best thing I’ve ever seen on a guy. Hey, Duncs,” he waves at Duncs who still has his shirt on, but it’s unbuttoned and falling off of his chest. “What’d’think? Tazer’s ink? Magical, right?” 

Pat can hardly understand him at this point, but it’s all the same to him. It’s funny. All of it is. 

Duncs takes a moment to reply in which he steadies himself on Kopecky’s shoulder to look at him intently, like he’s trying to make sure he’s still conscious. 

“Yeah,” he then yells, louder than probably necessary. “Like, Tazer’s probably the only one who could pull it off. He’s rocking that thing.” 

Pat only shakes his head and empties his next beer. They’re fucking with him and he knows. He’d know if his best friend, his roommate, his linemate, his shower buddy for fucks sake, had a tattoo. Especially since knowing Toews, it would be something ridiculous he would have already dragged him for. Something like a giant puck right over his heart, or a fucking maple leaf disappearing into his briefs. 

Just the thought of it makes him laugh. But as he does, Duncs looks at him funny, like he’s missing the joke. Pat sighs in exasperation. These guys are the worst. He’s too drunk to care though, and so he goes and finds Jonny on the balcony, talking to some girl Pat has never seen before. He neatly squeezes himself between them and leans against the barricade with the intention of joining their conversation, but she disappears shortly after that. 

“Ah shit, were you hitting on her?” Pat asks, running a hand over his mouth. He’s not really sorry though. As much as he likes happy Jonny, he kind of wants him to himself. Also, if Jonny runs off with some chick, he’s gonna end up having to clear out the condo, sending everybody home. And he’s way too drunk to handle a bunch of hockey guys with enough stamina to last them until the early morning. 

“Nah,” Jonny shakes his head. “She knows Oshie. Just catching up.” 

Pat nods. He feels tired all of a sudden, tired enough so that leaning his head against Jonny’s shoulder seems like the best idea he’s ever had. He can’t tell if Jonny is as drunk as him, but he’s all warm and sticky against him and smells like alcohol. He puts his arm around him a bit awkwardly, resting it on the handrail behind Pat in a half hug. 

“You turning in, Peeks?” 

“Mmhh,” Pat mumbles. “You letting me crash?” 

“Sure,” Jonny nods, and Pat has never felt more content in his life. This is it. He has everything he wants. There’s only one thing that’s bothering him. 

“The guys are fucking with me,” he complains, and it comes out whinier than it sounded in his head. Of course Jonny laughs at him and Pat stumbles to stand up straight again to let him know how much he sucks as a person. 

“You want me to call their moms? Tell Q?” Jonny snorts, but Pat ignores him. He’s tired and emotional and he’s never had a filter around Jonny. 

“Like you’d ever get a tattoo,” he states “Sticking needles into your body is like sticking them into your mind, right? Like, it’s all connected? The mind, the body, the holy spirit...” he rambles. “Your body is a temple, all that shit?”

He’s not seriously asking. He knows he’s right about this. He doesn’t actually doubt himself here. Not until Jonny looks down at him in contemplation and tilts his head thoughtfully. 

“You know, it’s not damaging. It’s not like, poison,” he says. “Just ink and some blood, nothing to condemn here, eh?” 

“Eh?” Pat repeats mockingly, like he still does sometimes. Like he doesn’t sound just as Canadian at times, especially after roadies when he’s spent a whole week straight with Jonny. 

“You’re a fucking nudist, I know you’re all lying,” he decides. But Jonny only smiles at him. 

“If everyone’s been telling you the same thing, there’s probably some truth to it,” he muses. “Just think about it again. Like, really think about it.” He definitely sounds drunk now, and his eyes are fixating Pat’s in a weird way that makes him feel hot all over. 

“You’re the worst,” Pat groans. “I know you’re not inked. I know, I’ve seen you.” He doesn’t know why he’s getting so hung up on this, he really doesn’t.

“Well then, why are you whining?”

Pat doesn’t have an answer to that so he just repeats himself. “I know.”

“But do you?” Jonny smiles at him wickedly and then he’s gone all of a sudden and Pat feels weirdly like he’s been slapped in the face. He’s cold and tired and drunk, and he can hear Tazer start telling people to leave in the living room. 

So he sneaks off into the bedroom before anyone else can give him crap tonight and mess with his head. He doesn’t know whether he wants to be angry or amused by it. Stripping off his dirty clothes, he decides to go with the latter. He laughs to himself quietly and falls into Jonny’s perfectly made bed and is out cold before Jonny even has the chance to tell him to at least take shower or brush his teeth first. 

…

 

When he wakes up, Jonny is snoring next to him. He’s doesn’t wear a shirt, but the covers are drawn up to his chest. He’s on his back, taking up most of the bed, and Pat can’t help but smile at how stupid he looks, despite how hard his head is pounding. 

He has to stop drinking now. At some point he has to sober up before going back to Buffalo. And right now it feels like it’s going to take him at least a few days to recover. His throat is dry, his vision blurry, and he has a headache that he knows some paracetamol isn’t gonna cure. He doesn’t even dare to move, so he just stares at Jonny and contemplates the season and how lucky he is until he stirs in his sleep and his eyes fall open. 

“Peeks,” Jonny groans in an annoyed voice when he catches Pat staring at him, and he throws an arm over his eyes. “Fuck off, I don’t need to wake up having you in my face.” 

“You do though,” Pat counters. “It makes you happy, babe.”

“Think I’d know that,” Jonny mumbles into his arm. “God, I feel like shit. How do you play games like this?” 

Pat huffs, a little affronted. “When have I ever been drunk on a game day. I don’t knock myself out like this during the season, period. Fuck you.”

But Jonny only laughs at him. “I know,” he offers. “Still, I’m starting to remember why I quit drinking after college.” 

It’s Pat’s turn to laugh at him and it makes his head hurt like hell. “Cause you got arrested?” 

He ignores Jonny’s groan and the way he kicks at him from under the blanket. Bits and pieces from last night make it back to him and he has to laugh at his own sorry state. 

“Got a drunk tattoo you regret?” he teases, playing on his own pathetic whining from last night. 

Jonny stops laughing. “No,” he says. Like Pat knew he would. He knew all along, because he was right and Kopecky is a fucking asshole. “I was sober for that. You know it’s illegal for parlors to stick needles in you when you show signs of being impaired?”

Pat doesn’t know what to say. It was all fun at first, then it was annoying, and now he genuinely doesn’t know what to think anymore. The guys have all messed with him before, he knows not to fall for it anymore. Like that one time when Sharpy convinced him that being from Buffalo actually made him partly Canadian and he had been disgusted with himself until he googled the shit. But this is Jonny, and he can usually tell when he’s being fucked with. He knows him, he knows what he looks like when he’s trying to mess with Pat’s head. 

Right now, he sounds so serious, so earnest, that for a second, Pat actually thinks about it. About whether there could be a way that he’s missed it. Yes, he’s seen Jonny naked, but he hasn’t ever actively looked for longer than he had to. He’s polite. And it’s not like he’s interested in Jonny’s firm ass or his strong chest. Nothing to see there. Shit, Pat is actually thinking about it, and that alone makes him groan in annoyance. He still knows he’s right, what the fuck is he doing?

“Show me then,” he demands, knowing that if he’s actually being messed with, it’ll all be over once he backs Jonny into a corner. He makes an effort to make his voice sound bored, to not let Jonny believe that he’s actually doubting himself. “I dare you to show me.” Make it a bet and Jonny can’t say no. 

Jonny only huffs and pulls his hand away from his face. “Nah,” he yawns. “You’ve had your chance every day for the last few months. Season’s over, you’re not getting another look until fall. Gotta make do with the memories.”

He’s smiling and it infuriates Pat. Enough so that he reaches for his blanket in frustration, in an attempt to rip it off of him. “You’re naked right now, fuckhead.” 

Jonny laughs at him but holds on to the sheets, pulling them closer to his body. “Come on, Kaner, you’ve seen my tat, don’t be ridiculous.” He’s honest to God wheezing now and Pat is fuming, still pulling at the blanket. But his body is drained, tired, and still intoxicated. He doesn’t stand a chance against Jonny, who probably sleepwalks to get another work out in and best him in the gym the next day. It’s whatever, Kaner can beat him with a stick in his hand any day, but right now he would really love it if he could just push Jonny off the bed and rip the stupid sheet off of him. Just to see his tattoo-less body. The way it’s always been. Clear, tanned skin, devoid of any imperfections.

He gets his legs into it now, clawing at Jonny’s blanket-clad body, kicking and pulling, but Jonny just shakes with laughter. Until Pat rolls himself on top of him, ignoring the pounding in his head. He sinks down onto Jonny’s hips, still covered by the blanket, and tries to somehow hold down his arms and press them into the mattress above Jonny’s head. If he can get his arms, he can use his legs to get the blanket off. 

Jonny does stop laughing and it feels like a small victory. He also stops fighting him as much and Pat sits up on top off him, about to ask if he’ll forfeit and just show him that there’s no goddamn tattoo so he can live in peace again. But it doesn’t come to that. Pat feels his stomach churning first, and it’s made worse by the way Jonny shoves him off of him with a curse. 

“Don’t you dare throw up on me, 88,” he warns, and Pat only just catches himself so that he doesn’t actually fall off the bed. He manages to pull the blanket with him, so technically, he won. He catches the sight of Jonny’s morning wood he must have just pressed up against, he sees his blank chest, his flushed skin, but he doesn’t have time to let his gaze linger, since he can feel his stomach turning. 

He just makes it to the bathroom and hurls up last nights’ fun into Jonny’s toilet. By the time he makes it back to the bedroom, his teeth brushed with a spare toothbrush he keeps at Jonny’s place, Jonny is dressed in sweatpants and last nights’ tank top. The fucker. He’s never worn that much clothing around the house before, and the way he winks at Pat makes him want to hit him. 

But he drops it. It’s stupid. Instead, he teases Jonny about his hard on that’s tenting his sweats and leaves for the kitchen with a flippant declaration about how he’s clearly getting off on his body being the subject of Pat’s desire. It doesn’t mean anything, not when they’ve been rooming together for months now and there’s no more secrets about how they get off in the shower in the mornings. Jonny just pats his shoulder as he walks past him and into the bathroom, smiling sweetly. 

“You wish, Peeks, you wish,” he says, and somehow Pat feels like he’s lost this round on more than just one level. 

 

…

 

Pat has never had a thing for tattoos. He’s been with a girl or two that had some, usually tiny ones that complemented their petite bodies and soft skin, but never anyone with a full on sleeve or giant tramp stamp. He never had any feelings about them, it’s whatever. That said, he’s also never fantasized about guys either. Not any more than what any curious and sexually open minded person would come up with. He’s decided a long time ago not to knock it til he tried it, but being a professional athlete kind of shut the door on any experimenting. 

He couldn’t actively pursue it even if he was bicurious, so there’s no point in wondering about it, he thinks. Go figure that the damned tattoo thing manages to kick in that door he’s closed for his own good with a ferocity that kind of throws Pat off for a day or two. 

He’s never had a thing for tattoos. On girls, that is. Guys, that’s a different story. One Pat hasn’t ever thought about before, but his mind is now hung up on it for no apparent reason other than the team fucking with his head for one night. 

He spends a couple of days winding down in his condo, wrapping up some things before he’s going to leave for the summer, but mostly sobering up and cleansing himself of all the shit he put his body through lately. He enjoys having some time off and wastes most of it in front of the TV watching shitty daytime programs. It’s where he first starts thinking about it. 

It’s some show he doesn’t actively watch, he’s busy on his phone and doesn’t even have the volume turned up loud enough to hear, but the guy on screen catches his attention. His arms are muscular and covered in tats. Not the pretentious tribal or biker ones either, nothing annoying like that. It’s nice, Pat thinks. It’s the first time he thinks about the stupid tattoo prank again and Jonny is right back on his mind. 

He doesn’t want to think about it, but he can’t help it. If Jonny really were to go for it, what would he choose? Something annoying for sure. But Pat can’t help but think that Jonny has never been into flashy or colorful things. Nothing that catches the eye. So what if Jonny actually had a tattoo? A tiny number 19 hidden somewhere on his body? Pat has to admit that it’s not impossible. 

Yes, he’s seen Jonny naked, but it’s not like he studies his body when they’re in the showers together and Jonny yells at him for dropping a pass or being a self absorbed asshole on the ice yet again. It’s not like he’s spent a lot of time looking. 

He still knows it’s not true. If it were, it would have to be something tiny, and therefore it wouldn’t have made Kopecky think that it’s the “raddest tattoo ever”. It wouldn’t have made Duncs claim that only Tazer could pull it off. They’re clearly messing with him. But it’s like the more he thinks about it, the more he actually doubts himself. 

He hasn’t seen Jonny in three days and he almost expects him to show up sporting a giant Indian on his biceps that Pat has somehow never noticed before. It’s stupid. So incredibly stupid. But he’s almost convinced by now that Jonny would actually quite be into the idea of getting a tattoo. What with all his talk about self love and realization, holding on to the good and remembering the bad, trusting what you know and what you love, about dedication and commitment. 

It’s the first thought Pat has. That maybe, just maybe, he hasn’t been messed with. It’s bad enough in itself, but still by far easier to stomach than what follows. When he finds himself thinking about the what and the where. It’s not so much him trying to remember anymore, since he’s still mostly sure there’s no tattoo on Jonny. But it’s a possibility now, so Pat’s mind is running wild. It’s imagination more than anything. And the worst part is that his brain is good at it. 

Pat’s in the shower, jerking off, when he first thinks of it. He tries not to, naturally, but he can’t turn off his own brain and he really needs to get off. It’s not really the ink itself, but the idea of it. Of knowing it’s there, somewhere, underneath Jonny’s shorts or his shirt, and Pat doesn’t know where. It makes him think of Jonny’s body in a way he never has before. Makes him imagine all the possibilities, all the potential parts where he could be hiding something. He comes to the embarrassing thought of being the only one to know. The only one to have seen it, to know Jonny better than anyone else does. 

He stays in the shower for a long time, realizing why he got so hung up on the whole thing to begin with. There is no way Kopecky or Duncs know Jonny better than he does. No way they know his body in ways that he doesn’t. Pat is the one who sleeps next to him, who falls asleep on his bed sometimes even though their hotel room has two singles. He’s the one Jonny annoys with his naked yoga and his morning wood, and he’s the one who gets to know what Jonny looks like skyping his family in the nude. No one else. If Jonny had a tattoo, Pat would want to be the first one to know. 

 

…

 

The next time he sees Jonny is at yet another party. He’s flying out to Buffalo tomorrow afternoon and he should really spend the evening packing and then turn in early, but he can’t go without saying goodbye to Jonny. He hasn’t given it much thought, convinced that neither of them is going to actually leave without a proper farewell, but he hasn’t realized just how time was flying by and how tonight is the last night he will get the chance to see him. Not only Jonny, but the team. 

So naturally, he easily agrees when Seabs texts him an address and a picture of him and some of the guys, squeezed into the booth of a bar they haven’t yet hit on their celebration through downtown Chicago. When he gets there, it’s not as many Hawks as he would have liked, but there’s a bunch of them gathered around some tables in the back of the packed club. 

And Jonny is there, which is all that matters anyway. He’s leaning against table casually, giving Pat a warm smile he hardly ever receives around the rink. Pat plans the order in how he fistbumps the guys carefully so that Burish comes last and he can squeeze in between him and Jonny. 

He doesn’t think about all the shit that’s been on his mind since the last time he’s seen him. When Jonny made him breakfast in his condo and Pat helped him clean up the mess the guys had left behind while complaining about it loudly all the way through. Jonny owes him one for that and so Pat sends him off to the bar to go get him a drink as soon as he greets him. 

But Jonny only snorts at him. “No way, go get one yourself, princess.” 

He looks good tonight, Pat thinks. He’s still kind of reveling in how smooth his skin looks now that he finally shaved. Still, he rolls his eyes at him in a well practiced move.

“Come on, you owe me,” he begs. Technically he could go and get himself a beer, but it takes him a lot longer than it usually takes Jonny. He just has that face, that presence that’s hard to ignore. Whereas Pat gets stuck at the bar trying to wave down the waitress more often than not. 

“Go get a round, Toes,” Seabs orders and throws him a twenty. “Captain’s duty.”

Pat ends up going with him when it turns out there’s enough empty glasses that need refilling and Jonny couldn’t possibly carry them all on his own. He doesn’t mind it much. Not at first, when Jonny has his eyes on him and asks him what he’s been up to. 

They chat for a bit and it only takes Jonny a second to place his order. While they wait, Jonny lectures Pat about the germs on the peanuts the bar offers and that Pat is delighted about. He keeps eating them, staring Jonny straight in the face while licking his fingers and picking up the leftover salt at the bottom of the bowl. It keeps Jonny’s eyes on him and Pat likes it even though they are disapproving. 

Pat is happy where he his, suppressing any thoughts about how he totally got off thinking about Jonny only yesterday. Until a tiny blonde squeezes herself between them, leaning over the bar so that her breasts almost fall out of her shirt in a way that says that she’s here for Tazer rather than a drink. 

There’s confusion on Jonny’s face at the way she’s smiling up at him now and his stiff answering face almost makes Pat laugh. But it’s not enough to outdo the annoyance he feels. He’s here with Jonny, it’s their last night together, and he doesn’t want to be fighting off girls right now. 

“We’re kind of in the middle of something,” he interrupts her rudely as soon as she opens her mouth and flutters her lashes at Jonny. 

She turns around to him with an affronted look on her face while Jonny has a hard time hiding his laughter behind his hand. 

“Someone’s in a pissy mood,” she snaps, but she’s off as soon as she has her drink, throwing her hair over her shoulder. 

“Wow,” Jonny muses, “you scared I’ll replace you with some puck bunny?”

Pat doesn’t want to admit how it’s not too far from the truth. Maybe not in the long run, like, he’s never actually tried to ruin a relationship for Jonny. He’s never thought that he wouldn’t want Jonny to date anyone and be happy. Thankfully, Jonny is married to hockey so it’s never been an issue anyway. But he doesn’t like it when Jonny picks up girls. Not when they’re out together and it’s supposed to be all about the team. He’s never seen him go home with anyone, now that he thinks about it, and he doesn’t even know if that’s all his doing or Jonny’s. 

The only thing he can do to make Jonny think he’s wrong though is to play along with it and show him how ridiculous that would be. 

“Yeah, I bet she could help you practice your face offs. Spin-o-ramas. Beat Philly with you.” Maybe he only needs to hear how much Jonny needs him after all. He’s pathetic like that. 

“Alright, you’re irreplaceable, that what you wanna hear?” Jonny laughs. It kind of is, yes, and Jonny gets it. Maybe that whole tattoo thing has fucked Pat up more than he wants to admit. He kind of shoves Burish out of the way again when they return to their table just so that he can sit down next to Jonny in one of booths. 

He stays there all night, his thigh pressing against Jonny’s, nursing his beer that somehow keeps refilling itself on its own accord. He feels comfortable and content listening to Jonny make small talk with the boys in his stupid, monotone voice. It doesn’t change when he gets drunk although Pat can tell that his cheeks are flushed after a while and he becomes just a bit more intense and loud. 

It’s past midnight when Duncs brings it up again. The damn tattoo Pat tries so hard to forget about. He knows he’s stupid about it, but he can’t help it. He still hates the idea of the team discussing Jonny’s body like they know it. And what he hates more is the fact that his doubts about whether they might just know it even better than he does is right back when Duncs proclaims he’ll get inked this summer. 

“Nothing crazy like what Tazer has going on. Just some fucking tribals, a classic,” he states and places his beer back onto the table with more force than necessary. 

Thankfully, the guys give him more than a little bit of shit for that terrible idea. Pat would be glad, would even join in, if he weren’t missing that laughter about how yes, that tattoo remark about Tazer that Kopecky made was fucking funny. About how they all know that Duncs has just made a joke that requires laughter. But no one says anything, they jump right into judging his taste. Rightfully so, but Pat still sneaks a glance at Jonny to see how he reacts. 

He’s smiling to himself, staring into his beer gleefully like it just told him a particularly funny joke. Pat is not going to ask him again. He’s not going to be humiliated any further which is the only possible outcome here. Option A is that he is right, there is no tattoo, and he’ll get shit for even doubting himself. Definitely the most likely one. Option B is that he fucked up, Jonny is hiding some rad ink somewhere, and he’ll get shit for not knowing this about his best friend. 

Pat downs his drink. It doesn’t matter. He won’t see Jonny until the end of summer, he’ll forget about it, and in fall he is going to laugh at himself when he joins Jonny in the showers of the United Center and gets the confirmation that he knows him and that his skin is perfectly unmarred. He fucking knows. 

“I’m done, boys,” he announces. He’s annoyed at himself at this point, he’s tired and his emotions are clearly messing with him after the most intense week of his life. “See you in a few weeks I guess.”

He throws a 20 on the table and watches Crow pocketing it although he’s fairly sure he doesn’t owe him anything. He doesn’t care though. It’s just money. It doesn’t get under his skin the way this whole fucking Jonny thing does.

He’s gonna leave them to it, if they’re all so fucking close. Let them circle jerk over Jonny’s body, Pat doesn’t care. He’s just his roommate, his linemate, his second half. Doesn’t mean he’s entitled to knowing his secrets. Which apparently Jonny doesn’t have anyway, since the whole fucking team knows about his tat. 

“Already?” 

Jonny sounds seriously upset and his eyes go all wide when Pat pushes against his shoulder so he’ll let him out of the booth. He can hear the other guys protesting and calling him weak in the background, but he only has eyes for how Jonny won’t budge and instead suggests: “I’ll buy you another, come one.”

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “Tired.” 

“He’s our baby boy,” Sharpie coos from across the table. “Go and tuck him in, Taze, Captain’s duty.” 

Pat gives him the finger although he has to admit that Jonny going home with him right now to spend the night sounds pretty stellar. Maybe he can’t keep his emotions off his face as well as he thinks, as Jonny bumps his shoulder with his and raises an eyebrow at him. 

“That what you want?” 

He says it quietly while the guys are busy chirping Pat for his babyface, and Pat gives a halfhearted shrug that clearly means yes. He’s never cared with Jonny. Let him see his vulnerable side, let him see how he’s not fine sometimes. There’s no point in keeping him out, Jonny has made his way underneath his skin and he’s going to stay there no matter what. 

“Alright,” Jonny nods and downs half a beer that he only just got. “Leaving.” 

The guys protest, but they can’t argue with Jonny the way they can with Pat. They exchange their goodnights and best wishes for the summer and Pat actually feels emotional when he finally leaves the bar right on Jonny’s heels. He fucking hates leaving them, no matter how much he’s looking forward to Buffalo. 

Jonny hails them a cab which, again, is easier for him than it would be for Pat. They shuffle into the backseat together and Jonny looks at him expectantly. 

“My place or yours?” he asks, his voice a flat, monotone line as always. 

“Mine,” Pat says as he remembers his still unpacked bags. If he stays over at Jonny’s he’ll have to rush out in the morning to get his shit and he knows he won’t pull it off. Not when staying at Jonny’s is literally his favorite thing in the world and getting out of his bed in the morning is the worst. 

Jonny gives the cab driver the address and puts on his seatbelt like a responsible person whereas Pat sprawls out on the backseat and takes out his phone to check Twitter. There’s nothing interesting there but it helps him take his mind off of the one thing he should really stop worrying about by now. 

So even if he had missed the fact that Jonny has a tattoo, it doesn’t mean they’re not close. And being the only one to have missed it does not mean the rest of them are actually more important to Jonny than he is. It’s something he has to get out of his head and he knows it. 

The cab driver is Canadian. Of fucking course. Jonny talks to him about fishing all the way to Pat’s condo and tips him more generously than Pat would have chosen to. They’re silent on the way up the elevator but Pat can feel Jonny’s eyes on him. 

“I can’t offer you anything, already emptied my fridge,” Pat says lazily when he opens his door and kicks off his shoes the second he gets inside. He’s still in a crappy mood, but at least Jonny is here with him for a little bit longer he tells himself. 

“Have you emptied your fun department as well?” Jonny asks, shrugging off his button down that he’d been wearing over his plain white shirt. “Talk to me Peeks, what’s up?” 

“Nothing,” Pat groans and throws himself onto his couch. “Just don’t wanna say goodbye to you.”

It’s not a lie. He hates how he can’t have both, Buffalo and Jonny. It’s always either one or the other and it feels like he’s missing a part of him all year round. Jonny’s eyes go all soft and he sits down next to him a lot more slowly and civilized. He kind of stays on the edge of the couch, looking at Pat who has slouched down into the pillows already. 

“I’ll miss you too, you know that.” 

His voice sounds dry and bored, the way it always does, but Pat appreciates it nonetheless. He can hear the honesty in his words and he greedily soaks them up like a dog that has been offered a treat. He’s so fucked. 

“I’ll fly out to Thunder Bay for a bit to see Sharpy, how about you come along? Hang out for a few days in June?” 

Jonny means to be nice, he’s probably even sincere about wanting to spend time with Pat, but all it does is make him feel worse. He’s too drunk to conceal how pathetically hurt he is right now. 

“Oh so you’re hanging out with him? I mean, I guess you’re best friends. Like he knows everything about you? The way they all do? Who else are you going to visit?”

Jonny frowns at him and Pat immediately wishes he hadn’t said anything. Here he is, ruining their last night together because of some fucking tattoo he’s somehow never seen before. 

“Peeks,” Jonny starts. “I can’t follow you, okay? You gotta actually talk if you want me to get you.”

Pat knows that, but he also knows that the thoughts he’s having right now are just a little bit too much. That they transcend the line of how teammates are supposed to feel about each other. He’s being a possessive little shit and he knows it. 

“It’s your body, I don’t care,” he says, unhelpfully. “I just wish you would’ve shown me at some point. Like, did you just stand around and let them all ogle at you in the showers one day? Did you hide it from me on purpose?”

And then Jonny gets it. Pat can see it on his face. Probably not all of it, but he says: “Is this about that stupid tattoo?” 

Pat doesn’t say anything but it’s a good enough answer. He can hear Jonny sigh first and then watches him lean back against the backrest of the couch so they’re sat next to each other after all. 

“Pat,” Jonny starts but then he stops. They sit in silence for a few minutes in which Pat thinks about how fucked up this is. Him making Jonny feel bad for something he has no control over. It’s Pat’s own fault that he hasn’t paid close enough attention. He’s always been scared that looking at Jonny for too long might put images in his head that he definitely doesn’t need. He doesn’t need the distraction, doesn’t need to have a stupid hard on for his best friend. 

Jonny breaks the silence by taking off his shirt. He leans forward a bit in order to do so and Pat stares at his tan back, his skin clear and soft. 

“I’m not hiding anything from you,” Jonny says flatly as he throws his shirt to the floor. He turns around to look at Pat and there is almost something like pleading in his eyes. 

“Come on, Peeks,” he says more quietly. “Don’t be like that.” 

Like what? Infatuated with how the muscles in Jonny’s chest and back move when he turns to the side? With how there is no tattoo to be seen anywhere, just like Pat knew? 

“Show me then,” he demands, his own voice hoarse and his gaze fixed on Jonny’s abs. 

The corner of Jonny’s mouth twitches. 

“No.”

Pat rolls his eyes at him. His face feels warm and he knows he’s blushing like a virgin. But damn, Jonny’s voice has gone all deep and raspy, and he’s sitting here with no shirt on, staring Pat down. Pat knows what he will say next, that he’s had his chance and is not gonna get another one until the fall. Maybe Pat can talk him into some skinny dipping if they actually end up going to Thunder Bay together.

“I’m not opposed to you finding yourself some proof if you need it, though.”

Jonny sounds so casual, so bored even, that Pat first doesn’t comprehend what he’s saying. He wants to say something but when he opens his mouth there are no words. Is this for real? Did Jonny just tell him to feel free to take his clothes off? 

Pat’s eyes flick down to the button of Jonny’s cargo shorts, over his strong legs and all the way to his already bare feet. He’s not sure what Jonny is saying, that there actually is a tattoo but he’s not hiding it, or that there is nothing to hide. Either way, Pat really needs to find out. He now knows it’s not on his chest or back, and a long look tells him it’s not on his legs either, at least not on his calves or ankles. 

He shuffles on the couch to awkwardly push Jonny forward again with one hand, making him turn this way and that, checking his back again and twisting to see his other side, his left biceps. Of course there’s nothing there. He drops his gaze to Jonny’s pants again and they’re both so quiet it’s almost pressing between them. His head is about to explode. 

“Don’t lie to me, man,” he finally gets out. 

He really fucking hates how much he doubts himself, how much it feels like he’s never seen Jonny’s naked body before. 

“I’m telling you you can find out the truth right now, Kaner,” Jonny presses. He almost sounds a bit desperate, out of breath. 

And that’s it. Pat pushes forward and gets on his knees. He’s taller than Jonny this way and when he moves in close to him, he can feel his breath on his neck. The couch is giving in underneath him and he swallows hard when Jonny places one of his large hands on his back to steady him. 

He gets his hands on Jonny’s zipper and fuck, Jonny is definitely filling up in his shorts. His eyes are on Pat’s hands and he pushes his hips up just a tiny bit when Pat gets the button undone and slowly pulls down the zipper like he was instructed to do. 

Pat can’t help but stare at the growing bulge in Jonny’s pants. He doesn’t know if it’s due to the attention or him being a weirdo and getting turned on by knowing he’s backed Pat into a corner and won. Or maybe it’s just Pat’s hands on him. He wishes it’s the last one. Just the possibility of it makes him slow down though. If Jonny can get hard for him, this conversation they’re having right now means something else entirely. 

Fuck it. 

Pat ungracefully climbs into Jonny’s lap and settles down right where his hardness presses against his ass. Jonny’s dark eyes fall close for a second but he makes no sound, perfectly keeping his composure just like Pat would have expected him to. He places his hands on Jonny’s shoulders and his skin is all warm and it makes Pat’s heart race. 

He’s supposed to look for the tattoo, so he runs his fingers over Jonny’s jaw and cards them through his short hair, twisting his head a bit to explore the skin on his flushed neck. He’s already seen his back, but he still leans forward to look again, peering down the long planes of Jonny’s shoulders.

He lets out a sharp breath when he feels Jonny’s lips nipping at the skin of his neck as he leans over him. He can’t help but rock his hips forward in response and this time Jonny reacts by lifting his hands to Pat’s hips and squeezing tightly. 

“I know that I know this,” Pat breathes. “You’re not inked.” 

It doesn’t keep him from continuing to run his fingers over Jonny’s hot skin though. Down his forearms, admiring his biceps. He can feel Jonny chuckle and grinds down his hips to shut him up. Jonny lets out a sharp breath and the grip he has on Pat’s hips grows tighter. 

“I’ve seen all of you,” Pat whispers. “All of you. I know I’m right.”

He needs to tell himself this as much as he needs to hear Jonny confirm it for him. They are so close now, their faces only inches apart, and Jonny’s eyes are on his lips, his mouth hangs open. 

“Keep looking,” Jonny teases.

Oh fuck. Pat’s dick actually starts to ache with how desperately it presses up against his zipper by now. He grinds his hips down again, hard, and when Jonny groans into his mouth this time and lifts his hips up to meet his, there is no way he can not kiss him. 

Pat’s skin is on fire, there is so much heat, so much need, he doesn’t even know what to do first. He moans against Jonny’s lips that are warm and soft and so much less stupid than when he uses them to talk. They mold against Pat’s in a way that makes his breathing stop altogether for a moment, and his hand flexes on Jonny’s chest with the desire to touch him everywhere he can. 

Jonny raises his hips up again the second Pat’s tongue enters his mouth and they both groan at the feeling of his hard dick pressing against the back of Pat’s thighs as he rubs himself against the thick denim of his jeans. 

Pat has always known that there’s a lot he doesn’t allow himself to think about, that over the course of the last year he’s become the master of repressing his desire and his almost desperate curiosity for Jonny’s body. But he hasn’t known just how much he actually needs him. Needs Jonny to hold him, to claim him, to touch him everywhere he can think of. 

“You’re mine,” Pat moans. “I know you.”

It does strange things to Jonny. He kind of whines and pushes his hips up against Pat’s yet again, even harder now, but he also breaks their kiss and pulls Pat back at his hair. Pat hisses when Jonny buries both of his hands in his curls and makes him look at him for a moment. 

He knows it shows. All the thoughts he’s had of Jonny, how much he wants him now. But he can see it in Jonny’s eyes as well and it drives him crazy. They are intense, glistening with something Pat has never seen in them before, and they fill with understanding as much as confusion at Pat’s words. 

Either way, he nods. 

“You do,” Jonny agrees, although Pat doesn’t know how coherent he is right now. They both seem to be somewhere in the limbo between reality and dream. This isn’t really happening. He isn’t really grinding down on Jonny, can’t feel him grow impossibly harder underneath him in a way that must be painful when he moves in to kiss his neck.

“Maybe it’s an 88,” Jonny breathes, almost inaudibly. “Go find it, come on.”

Fucking hell. Pat bites the skin on Jonny’s neck in order to keep himself from moaning. The thought of that alone, of Jonny’s secret being him, his 88, brings him close, and he needs to get his fucking jeans off, now. 

He moves his hands between them, but instead of going for his own pants he pulls at Jonny’s. He shuffles down on his thighs just a bit until he can pull at the fabric of his shorts to make them slide down his strong legs with Jonny’s help. Jonny catches his lips again as they move around and he sucks on his lower lip. It makes Pat’s head spin. 

As soon as Jonny’s pants hit the floor and he’s left in his boxers, Pat moves away from him though. He casts his eyes down to his crotch where his impressive length tents his white boxers, a wet spot darkening the fabric where the head is still trapped against his thigh, partly due to Pat’s weight on him, partly due to how tight his briefs are. Slowly, he runs his fingers over what is now exposed of Jonny’s legs, moving further back on his thighs and pushing up his boxers a bit, spreading his fingers over his smooth skin. 

There’s still no tattoo. Of fucking course not. 

“I knew this.” 

Pat wants to sound dismissive, bored even, but his voice comes out breathy and strangely vulnerable. 

“You’re not done,” Jonny says. 

He somehow manages to sound as composed as ever, even though Pat can see his chest rising and falling quickly. His dick twitches when Pat moves his hand over it, ghosting only his forefinger over the head and all the way to the base. He is trapped in his boxers in an obscene way and the sight of it makes Pat’s own balls feel heavy. 

“Tell me there’s no tattoo,” he demands. “Tell me I’m right about this. That I know you.” 

Jonny smiles at him, but he also sighs and brings one hand to his neck, cradling his face. He looks almost fond of him and it makes Pat feel stupidly hopeful. 

“You know me,” Jonny says quietly. “Better than anyone. You do, okay?”

Pat moves in closer again but doesn’t press his lips to Jonny’s the way he wants to. Instead he contents himself with pressing their chests together, feeling Jonny’s abs against his, hearing him gasp against his mouth when he moves the tip of his finger back to the head of his dick. He runs it over the wetness there that’s still covered by his boxers, and Jonny’s eyes fall closed and his breathing stops for a second. He is tense all over with how he’s trying not to push up against Pat’s hand, and it makes Pat proud, makes excitement pool in his stomach. 

Jonny wants him. Wants his hand on him, his lips, wants to be close to him. 

“No tattoo,” Pat repeats. 

He rubs slow circles into the head of Jonny’s dick now. He can feel his foreskin which is something he’s definitely not used to, and for a second it distracts him enough so that he loses his own train of thought. But Jonny only repeats his words at him, finally sounding as affected by this as Pat is. 

His voice breaks when he says: “No tattoo. You’d know first, Peeks. You’re my…” 

He stops like he doesn’t even know anymore what word is appropriate here, but it’s enough for Pat. He moves his hand over him in a quick movement and rubs him up and down once before squeezing him tightly the way he likes it himself. 

Jonny moans and his head hits the back of the couch when he throws it back. Pat moves with him to capture his lips again, but they’re both too preoccupied to really kiss. Jonny bucks his hips up and Pat grinds down against his thighs for no real reason other than to do something, to relieve some of the pressure that’s building up in him. 

He wants to undo his jeans at least, wants to get just a little bit more comfortable, but touching Jonny feels too good and he doesn’t want to stop. He loves feeling him in his hand, feeling him grow even thicker and leaking into his boxers again. He can ignore his own hard on for a bit longer, he thinks, but then he doesn’t have to. 

Jonny palms him over his jeans at first, like they’re still in college and they need to take their time and go through all the steps in the right order, and Pat wants to be annoyed but he can only moan and curse and press himself against Jonny’s hand. There’s already so much pleasure that’s building up in him, and he doesn’t even know if he’d survive it if Jonny actually took his pants off and let him feel his hand right on his bare skin. 

But then they both fall into motion again, Jonny hurriedly undoes his jeans and pushes them down as far as they will go, but he stops Pat from getting up to step out of them. He slides his hands into Pat’s boxers like that, making do with the limited space and the weird angle of his wrist in order to not lose any more fucking time. 

Pat’s rhythm that he has on Jonny falters and he falls against him, resting his head on Jonny’s shoulder for a second. But when Jonny swallows a curse, he pulls himself together and finally pushes his hand into his boxers, pushing the fabric out of the way. 

He can’t help but look down with the intention to get one final affirmation that Jonny’s skin is as perfectly clean as ever, but when he takes in the sight of Jonny’s dick in his hand, of Jonny’s hand vanishing inside his jeans and boxers, he can only groan and keep himself from coming right there and then. 

“You’re mine,” he pants without even thinking about it. “Fuck the other guys, they don’t get to have you like this, they don’t, oh fuck.” 

He loses his voice when Jonny twists his wrist and squeezes him tightly, rubbing the palm of his hand over his sensitive head for a second like he doesn’t even remember that Pat is cut, that this’ll feel so much more intense to him. 

“Fuck, sorry,” Jonny breathes and goes right back to the base when Pat flinches, moving his hand in tight but fast movements. 

Pat only shakes his head. 

“S’good,” he gets out. “Like it.” 

His forehead is pressed against Jonny’s now and they’re both breathing hard, drawing closer with every second. Pat knows this will be over way too soon and he makes himself slow down and fucks with Jonny’s foreskin for a second, taking it between his thumb and forefinger, sliding it over the head and down again. He needs to savor this, needs to see what makes Jonny lose it. 

His head is already flooded with thoughts of how he wants to sink down to the floor and take Jonny into his mouth, how he wants to suck his balls and mess with his foreskin with his tongue as well, only to see what it’ll do. But he knows there’s no time. 

He can feel Jonny tensing up beneath him, can feel the sweat that’s forming on his forehead, and he’s almost desperate to make this last even though he know he can’t. There’s one other thing he knows though. He doesn’t want to come in his pants like he used to do in high school. 

And so he lets go of Jonny and smirks at him when he whines, like he doesn’t feel like dying at the loss of his touch just as much. But he gets up and stumbles out of his jeans and boxers anyway. It’s nothing Jonny has never seen before, but his eyes still widen and he keeps them glued to where his dick jumps up against his lower stomach. It makes Pat’s skin tingle and when he sinks back down on Jonny’s strong thighs, he makes sure to make a bit of a show out of it, going slowly until Jonny rolls his eyes at him and laughs. 

“Come on, fucker,” he demands and pulls Pat down against him again, making him grind against his dick the way he has earlier, only now he’s naked and there’s only Jonny’s boxers in the way where they are pushed down to his thighs. 

They both moan at the feeling and it’s like Pat has never left, he’s right back at the edge when Jonny kisses him eagerly. Fuck, he hasn’t come this fast in forever, but he can’t stop it. So he reaches down before Jonny can and takes both of their dicks in his hand, squeezing his fingers around them tightly enough for Jonny to hiss. 

It’s a stretch, they don’t quite fit in his hand, but it still feels so fucking good to rub himself against Jonny, to taste his moans and gasps that he’s finally no longer holding back. It gets even better when Jonny wraps his fingers around what Pat can’t fit and follows his rhythm, for once not fighting him on something. 

Pat is falling fast and he’s already thinking about how he’ll get Jonny off after, how maybe he can get his mouth on him after all, so that it rushes through him like a shock when Jonny comes first. He slaps his free hand on the couch next to them, a low moan escaping his lips, and then he comes on Pat’s hand, on his dick, his stomach, making the slide of his hand so much easier, so much better than Pat doesn’t even have it in him to slow down for Jonny’s sake once he’s done. 

He just keeps them together even though Jonny is panting hard and moves his hand to Pat’s biceps in an almost bruising grip. He’s biting his own lip, caught somewhere between pleasure and pain at the overstimulation, and Pat can only stare at where his own dick rubs against Jonny’s slightly thicker one, where it is covered in Jonny’s come and glistening with it obscenely. 

“Come on, Pat,” Jonny hisses. “Fucking come on. You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine.” He breathes the words into Pat’s neck, they’re this close, and Pat comes before he even fully registers them. 

He shoots hot come between them, over Jonny’s dick that he’s still squeezing tightly, and it’s so good, so goddamn good, that he just about dies when he hears the noise Jonny makes. Jonny’s hips lift off the couch and he pushes up into Pat’s hand roughly while at the same time he’s trying to pull at his hand now, to make him finally stop moving as he comes again, the tight grip Pat has on him apparently too much. 

It’s less visible and only apparent in the few colorless drops he’s dribbling over Pat’s fingers, but his whole body thrashes with it, Pat doesn’t even know if it’s good or bad any longer, he can only watch and catch his breathing as he rides out his own high. 

“Jonny,” Pat almost whines, and he feels exhausted all of a sudden, more than he ever has before after sex. 

But Jonny only stares at him with wide eyes, mirroring the overwhelming comprehension Pat himself feels as well. He can’t stop thinking that now he knows. He knows why Jonny has always felt different, why he gets all pissy when anyone gets up in his personal space, why he has always been so damn stupid about Jonny. 

“Jonny,” he repeats. “Don’t you dare go anywhere. Ever.” 

“I won’t,” Jonny says without hesitation, and his voice breaks again. “Fuck, Peeks. What the fuck.”

They’re both sweaty and messy, but Pat couldn’t care less. He needs to savor this too, needs to feel Jonny’s breathing evening out before he kisses him again, more softly this time. 

And Pat almost falls into him, curls himself against him in Jonny’s arms. He could do this all night. All summer. All year. Just kissing Jonny and knowing that he’s the only one who gets to do this with him. 

“I’m the only one,” he whispers into their kiss and it makes Jonny smile again. 

“Yeah, Kaner, possessive much?” he asks, almost a bit condescendingly, and Pat pulls at his short hair in warning. “You’re the only one. Hell, had I known that tattoo thing would fuck with your head that much I would have never gone with it.” 

Finally, Pat pulls back a bit.

“What, so it was a conscious plan? Hold on, was everyone in on that?” 

Jonny laughs at him but somehow Pat doesn’t have it in him to be mad at him right now. 

“Everyone. But only because you were so hung up on it. Kopecky made his rounds at my place last week, telling everyone to go with it. You were so butthurt, I almost felt bad for you.” 

He laughs even more now and Pat shoves at him a little. 

“Fuck you,” he says. “Like hell am I gonna fly out anywhere to see you this summer. You can move your ass to Buffalo.”

To his surprise, Jonny only tilts his head. 

“I could be persuaded to do that,” he states. 

Pat smiles at him and he’s almost ready to forgive him for fucking with his head like this. In the end he doesn’t really care that much, since the outcome has brought him to Jonny’s lap, their come drying on their bellies between them, both of them dizzy with the afterglow. 

“You can get that 88 somewhere on your body,” he teases. “Somewhere only I get to see it though.”

Jonny laughs at him again, but somehow Pat has a feeling that he doesn’t find his proposition as ridiculous as he should.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pat and Jonny come together in Thunder Bay and need to address the fact that they parted on the note of really hot post cup sex. Pat doesn’t think that moonlit campfire sex in a tent or some skinny dipping is going to fix their sad attempts at communicating, or make Jonny spill his feelings all over him. But then Jonny finds a way of saying everything Pat needed him to say anyways.
> 
> I wrote this second part for the bigficenergy bang! It also ended up being unbetaed, oops. 
> 
> Please check out the wonderful art made by heidii19: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16908936  
> Thank you so much for your art, I absolutely adore it!

It’s a good thing, Pat thinks, that Jonny didn’t fly out to Buffalo for the summer like he’s initially asked him to do. He’s nervous enough as it is, he wouldn’t have known how to handle both reuniting with Jonny and his family being all up in his business about it at the same time. There’s no way his sisters wouldn’t have picked up on something being off between them. And they would have pestered Pat about it until he would have exploded and blurted out that yes, he did kind of have sex with Jonny this summer and yes, it was easily the best he’s ever had.

If his teammates are the better choice to witness his reunion with Jonny is definitely questionable, but at least they’re not as smart as his sisters are. While they might pick up on the unavoidable tension between Jonny and him, they’re never gonna guess right on this one. Also, it’ll be easier to slip away and avoid any questioning at all here at Lake Superior than it would be in his own home.

So Pat lifts his luggage out of the trunk of the cab once it pulls up on the curb outside Sharpy’s house in Thunder Bay and tips the driver too much because converting Canadian dollars is too much to ask of him right now. He hasn’t been able to form a coherent thought ever since he’s boarded the plane that brought him here. 

Jonny has arrived two days ago and already gone fishing with Sharpy and Abby, camping out at the lake last night. Pat’s glad he chose the later flight. As far as he knows, Seabs and Duncs have both landed this morning, and Hoss’ flight almost matched Pat’s, so at least now he won’t be on an awkward sort of double date with Jonny and Sharpy and his sweetheart.

He hasn’t really talked to Jonny. It’s been three weeks and sure, they’ve exchanged some text messages, Jonny has sent him a few pictures of lakes and mountains and whatever boring stuff he’s been up to while Pat has sent him back snaps of the pool behind his parents’ house every single time, but they haven’t really talked. Not about their last night together. 

The morning after, when Pat had woken up around noon, Jonny had almost been out the door. He’d made himself some herbal tea that he’s stored in Pat’s kitchen cabinets a while ago, taken a shower, and finished the last of Pat’s toothpaste. So it’s not like he’d sneaked out before dawn or anything, but he’d still been quick to leave once Pat had gotten up. Which, okay, Pat might have avoided doing until he’d heard Jonny opening the front door. But Jonny could have just come back to bed with him, there’d been no need to get up at 8 o fucking clock on an off day. 

So maybe they had both avoided each other the day after. And Pat hasn’t brought up what’s happened any more than Jonny has, but he’s still a bit pissed about it. Mostly because he’s fairly sure that he’s been clear about how he feels. He’s put himself out there, has begged Jonny to tell him he’s his and whined about never wanting him to leave, while he still doesn’t know shit about Jonny’s side of things. So the ball is definitely in Jonny’s court, or the puck on his stick or whatever, and he should have just had the guts to play by now.

But instead, Jonny has done his very best to act like nothing’s ever happened by trying to make small talk via text and sending him all those stupid pictures. Had they been nudes, Pat could have worked with that. But Jonny hadn’t even been in the fucking snaps. Pat doesn’t know what do with any of it. He knows it’s unfair to expect Jonny to have a masterplan here, but damn, ignoring the whole thing is definitely not what’s going to fix it. 

Pat takes his time walking up to the front door. He’s both dying to see the guys, no, dying to see Jonny, while at the same time he’s dreading it. He’s tired of replaying those few minutes of seeing Jonny the morning after over and over again in his head, trying to make sense of his unrevealing face and their awkward hug. But chances are high that seeing Jonny now isn’t gonna clear anything up either. Most likely it’ll just be infuriating as Jonny is gonna be way too good at pretending they’re perfectly fine. At least in front of the guys. 

What the fuck has he done? It’s not like he wants to take it back, he’s too selfish for regret, but he kind of wishes he would have been smarter about it. Coaxed something out of Jonny before he left for Buffalo. Something he could hold on to now, some kind of proof that Jonny wasn’t just drunk and horny and turned on by the fact that he’d managed to mess with Pat’s head about that stupid tattoo. Jonny has done a lot of stupid things in his post cup delirium that he usually wouldn’t ever do, and Pat just really doesn’t want to be one of them.

He sighs, drops his bag on the front porch by his feet, and rings the doorbell in defeat. There’s no avoiding this. 

“Peekaboo,” Sharpy greets him as soon as he’s opened the door for him. “It’s an honor to welcome you to my estate.” He makes some weirdly elaborate hand gesture and flashes his perfect teeth at Pat. Then he throws an arm around him and okay, maybe Pat’s missed his teammates more than he wants to admit. This feels right. 

Maybe he’s been wrong to freak out over everything. No matter how weird things will be, his team is his family and so is Jonny. He’s had his fair share of weird moments with Jonny for sure, and they have yet to fail at moving past them. If only the thought of Jonny never saying anything about what has happened at all and them simply brushing it off as a drunk mishap didn’t make Pat feel sick to his stomach.

“Hey man,” he says into Sharpy’s shoulder. “Nice place.”

“What can I say,” Sharpy grins, “it raised a beautiful boy, right?” He gestures down at himself.

“Stunning. Absolutely breathtaking,” Pat agrees flatly, in a way that would make Jonny proud, and steps into the spacious hallway.

“Now you’ve earned yourself a beer,” Sharpy laughs. “Just leave your bag right there for now, we’ll bring it up later. I prepared a lovely little room for you and Tazer to enjoy. Very romantic.” 

Pat’s blood freezes in his veins. What the fuck? He hasn’t even considered the horrific possibility of Jonny having told the guys. Is he about to reunite with him in front of their howling team wolf whistling at them? Pat would take his sisters over that in a heartbeat.

But it’s not like Sharpy hasn’t made fun of how close Pat and Jonny are before, calling them married and all. And he’d certainly find it hilarious to make them room together like they do on the road, whether he knows or not. In light of Pat’s recent memories of coming all over Jonny’s stomach however, he has a hard time laughing off what has surely just been another one careless one liner. He fidgets and avoids looking at Sharpy’s amused face. Fuck. He hasn’t even been here for a full minute and already feels called out.

Luckily, Sharpy doesn’t comment on how all brain power abandons Pat for a second there. Instead, he leaves for what is presumably the kitchen to get Pat’s promised beer and points him towards the bathroom and the living room, claiming that the others are out back. 

It turns out that “out back” refers to a patio that smells like bbq and summer. Sharpy hasn’t been kidding when he’s told Pat he grew up at the lake. Pat can see it from his back porch. The open yard behind the house leads right to the shore, and he could be down at the water in five minutes flat. Already he has to swat at a mosquito that lands on his sweaty collarbone. 

Duncs is manning the grill while holding his phone between his shoulder and ear and sweet talking someone into getting on a plane and joining them. There’s Seabs sitting between two gorgeous women, one arm wrapped around each of them, swinging them back and forth on a Hollywood swing set and wearing his most charming smile. Hoss is sat at the table on his own, scrolling on his phone and seemingly listening in on Duncs with one ear. But Pat doesn’t really have eyes for any of them.

Jonny doesn’t have a shirt on. Of fucking course not. He’s standing right where the yard turns into a field of dry weed that protects the house from the lake, talking to Abby. He has a serious look on his face and Abby keeps nodding while he’s talking about God knows what. He’s probably boring her. But Pat is glad their conversation at least holds Jonny’s attention. It gives him a moment to study him without being seen. 

A moment turns into two and Pat can’t move. Fuck. Jonny’s all tan and defined and beautiful, his swimming trunks just a little bit too short and too tight. All Pat can think of is how the last time he’s seen him, he’s let his hands run all over him, has touched him everywhere he could, has made him moan and pant into his mouth. He’s made Jonny come. How is he ever gonna look at him and not think of that? Of the way his face had looked, the way his entire body had gone tense and how he had smiled afterwards, all blissed out. 

But there’s something else there, too. Yeah, Pat’s definitely tenting his jeans just looking at Jonny, but he also just wants to go over there and hear his voice again, wants to pull him into a hug and stand next to him all night, show everyone that that’s where he belongs. He wants to own that place in Jonny’s arms, wants it to be his. He knows that now and he kind of hates himself for not realizing it sooner. Or for giving in to it two weeks ago. Or for telling Jonny right on the spot, baring his all to him. He’s not sure, but he’s definitely mad at the both of them.

Of course thinking any further than that primal urge of being with Jonny scares him half to death. There’s no way he’d ever actually tell anyone that he’s been feeling this way lately. Or has been for a while, he doesn’t even know anymore. Not in a million years would he tell the world he’s into dudes, more specifically into Jonny, and that being touched by him makes him feel safe and emotional and like he’s home. It’s not an actual desire of his to date Jonny, because it can never be. But he still yearns for it, still wants it. In an abstract, dreamlike kind of way. 

He’s so fucked. 

Of course Jonny looks up and right at him. Pat can’t be 100% sure but it looks like he stops talking mid-sentence when he sees him. Good. At least he’s not the only one who realizes that this is kind of a big deal. Only Jonny doesn’t blush like Pat can feel himself doing, he doesn’t look freaked out. All he does is lift the beer in his hand to his mouth and take a deep sip while his eyes pierce Pat in such an intense way that it makes Abby turn around to see what he’s staring at. 

Pat gives her an awkward wave and then he can’t stall any longer. He goes over to where Jonny and Abby are standing closely together and weirdly far off. On the way he announces his entrance to his other teammates by yelling a general greeting. He smiles at the girls on the swing set for a moment too long and hears Jonny chuckle when he finally reaches him. 

“Patrick, so good to see you,” Abby greets him. She pulls him into a quick hug and kisses his cheek in the weird way in that her lips don’t actually make contact with his skin. The same way his sisters do it. Pat keeps his eyes on Jonny while he hugs her back with one arm.

He doesn’t know what to do once she lets go of him, so he simply nods at Jonny and drops his eyes down his strong, exposed legs to his feet. Jonny’s wearing battered Nike flip flops and there’s dirt between his naked toes. Pat sees his feet moving towards him before he realizes what’s going on. But then Jonny’s arms are around him, pulling him in close, and Pat’s head is spinning with how he smells like he’s been swimming in the lake all day, a bit sweaty and earthy. There’s too much naked skin, he’s all warm and a bit sticky, and Pat kind of wants to bite down on Jonny’s biceps that’s in his face. 

Instead he clears his throat in an attempt to get it together. 

“Missed you, Taze,” is what comes out and he mentally slaps himself on the forehead. It’s not something he’s ever had a problem with saying before, but it definitely means something different now. Jonny’s mouth twitches with a dumb smile when he pulls back. 

“I missed you too, bud. Glad you got here in one piece.”

How does he manage to sound so damn casual? It’s like everything he does comes natural to him, and it annoys Pat enough to make himself focus his attention back on Abby. 

“So, are the in-laws around?” he asks her, looking around the yard like he might see Sharpy’s parents awkwardly crashing their party in one way or another. 

He doesn’t miss the way Abby looks back and forth between Jonny and him for a second too long. Like she’s already caught on and picturing it right now. Jonny’s come drying on Pat’s stomach, Pat’s lips swollen from biting them raw under the electric feeling of Jonny’s touch, both their hands sticky with their relief. He feels exposed by her curious eyes and it doesn’t help the blush that’s creeping onto his neck now. It’s fucking hot in Thunder Bay. Maybe they can all go for a late night swim together. 

But then Abby clears her throat and she sounds casual enough when she says: “They’re spending the whole month in Europe, so we got the place to ourselves basically all summer.”

Pat nods politely, but her words don’t really make it through to him since he’s too busy trying to ignore the way Jonny’s staring at him. He’s glad when Sharpy shows up with his beer a moment later. He takes it from him and downs half the bottle while Sharpy wraps an arm around Abby in such a loving and affectionate way that it kind of hurts Pat’s brain. Jonny’s eyes are still on him. It’s actually the two of them together with a couple now and Pat feels even hotter and takes another long sip of his drink. Fuck this. 

“Hey Hoss,” he yells over to where Hoss is still sat at the table, now in conversation with Duncs who has hung up the phone. “You have a good summer?”

“Grand,” Hoss nods. He doesn’t get up to come over to the four of them and Pat is starting to wonder why they’re standing in the fucking field in the first place when there’s a perfectly fine table with snacks right over there. It occurs to him that maybe Jonny had actually talked about something private with Abby and wandered off, but he doesn’t feel bad about crashing their party. Jonny tells him things. If he wants to pretend everything’s perfectly fucking normal then he’ll have to deal with Pat being all up in his personal space.

He washes down the feeling of unease at the thought of Jonny having secrets from him with his beer and continues yelling at Hoss who’s technically too far away to have a conversation with. 

“You gonna take the cup to Slovakia?”

Sharpy says something right next to him at the same time as Hoss bellows something back to him and Pat doesn’t understand either of them, but his brain kind of circuits anyways when he feels Jonny’s fingers dancing on his lower back. He’s leaning over to Sharpy and into Pat’s space to reply to what must’ve been a question, and Pat feels like his backside has been set on fire. It’s subtle but insistent, territorial evidence of how much Jonny hates being ignored by him. His hand settles right over the waistband of Pat’s shorts, pressing into his skin with something heavy Pat knows Jonny doesn’t have words for. Otherwise he would have opened his fucking mouth by now and not left him hanging for two whole damn weeks.

He wants to lean into Jonny’s side like he always does when there’s a crowd and he knows no one’s gonna look at him weird. But a) he doesn’t want to set Sharpy up for some remark about them being touchy and b) Jonny doesn’t deserve that kind of satisfaction right now. He’s mad at him and he wants Jonny to know. So he empties his beer and takes a deliberate step away from him even though it makes him feel a bit sick.

“I’m gonna get another,” he announces and turns around more abruptly than he intended to. He can feel Jonny’s eyes staring at his back when he leaves for the house. Fucking psycho.

 

...

 

There’s still two tents set up at the shore. Pat has to admit that camping out here the way Jonny, Sharpy, and Abby have done for the last two nights doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world. Except for the fishing. And the fact that seeing Jonny hang out in his swimming trunks for a full 48 hours would eventually probably harm his brain somehow for the lack of oxygen. 

He’s managed to avoid Jonny during dinner by ignoring the way he’d leaned back in his seat too far, stretching his bare upper body in a delicious way, and casually shoved the free chair to his left back a bit with his foot to invite Pat to sit. Instead of sitting where Jonny had wanted him to, Pat had shoved Duncs out of the way and found himself a place in between Seabs and Sharpy. But ignoring Jonny’s presence has always been impossible for him. His dark eyes had bored into him mercilessly all evening and his naked feet had brushed against Pat’s underneath the table. He’d jumped up at that and gotten himself yet another drink. By the time he had come back and willed his dick to calm down, Jonny had been smirking at him from across the table. So Pat had made them all go down to the lake as soon as they had been done eating.

They’re just in time for the sun to go down, the arm Seabs has around the blonder one of the two girls is moving steadily lower on her back, and Pat can feel his head starting to buzz with the number of beers he’s chugged during dinner. Jonny’s fallen back with Abby again and reaches the beach last, but it’s not like Pat is paying him any attention anyways. 

There’s hooting and clapping when Duncs takes his shirt off and announces he’s gonna go for a swim. Seabs and Hoss are quick to join in, and things turn from really fucking awkward to really fucking annoying for Pat when Sharpy opens his mouth.

“So where are those tribals you promised us, huh?” 

He points at Duncs’ clear upper body and Pat dimly remembers the conversation they’ve had at the club. The night he took Jonny home, he thinks, and something in him aches. His heart begins to beat faster, knowing what subject they’ll soon be on, and sure enough, Duncs only shrugs and says: “Figured it wouldn’t top Jonny’s masterpiece anyway. I’ll give that one to you.” He looks at Jonny while Sharpy starts laughing. 

For the first time in a while Pat dares to turn his head to face Jonny, and to his surprise he’s not smiling. Instead he’s wearing that constipated look he gets when he’s uncomfortable, and yeah, that’s a first for tonight for sure. It makes Pat feel satisfaction he’s not proud of, but he’ll take it over feeling so fucking helpless against Jonny’s confident act. 

“Yeah, we’re not doing that anymore, joke’s over,” he decides and then adds “you fuckers” for good measure. 

Sharpy wheezes at his admittedly pathetic attempt at having the upper hand here and lies a hand on Pat’s shoulder. 

“Oh come on,” he tries. “Best ink on the team, right?” 

But the joke is gone. Pat can’t laugh about it anymore and it doesn’t work him up now, either. Not when he still comes to the memory of Jonny telling him to find out for himself, to the feeling of running his hands over his perfectly smooth skin. Jonny whispering into his ear about how maybe it’s an 88. All it does is make him blush with the thoughts that fill his head and it makes the guys laugh even harder. He can hear Seabs fall into the whole story and tell their female company about the hilarious prank they played on him while Hoss asks, a wide smile on his face at the memory: “Who told you? Last I checked you were under the impression that Tazer is hiding something.”

Jonny. Jonny not only told him but showed him, but Pat’s not gonna say that out loud, obviously. He only shakes his head and pretends to laugh it off while he can’t help but sneak another glance at Jonny. He’s rubbing his hands over his chest and stares out at the lake with a lazy smile on his face, looking almost smug. But there’s also still a hint of self-consciousness there that Pat hardly ever sees on him, and he doesn’t know what to make of it. He doesn’t know what to make of anything Jonny has thrown at him tonight and he kind of hates it.

“Gonna go for a swim while you tell yourself that shit’s still funny,” he tells the guys halfheartedly and takes off his shirt. 

“Come on, Peekaboo,” Sharpy coos. “You gotta admit that was a good one. Didn’t think you’d ponder over it for a whole week. It’ll go down as Kopecky’s proudest moment for sure.”

“I never believed there was a tattoo,” Pat attempts, but there’s no point in even trying to convince Sharpy of that. He only sighs when Sharpy turns to Abby and asks: “Does he or does he not look like someone who’s lying?”

“Fuck you all,” Pat decides, and it comes out a bit harsher than he intends to. He can see the realization that something is off spreading on Sharpy’s face and really, fuck Jonny for not helping him out of this one. He’s the one who put him into this stupid situation in the first place by looking like a fucking Greek God and sweet talking into his ear about wanting his hands on him. By making him think he was actually inked. He throws an angry glance at Jonny while Sharpy studies him slowly, a bit taken aback, and finally Jonny drops his hands from his own chest and opens his mouth. 

“Come on, Pat, let’s bring the cooler down here,” he says. “I could use another beer.”

He turns around on the spot and Pat doesn’t really have an option other than to follow him back up to the house. He thinks about throwing a tantrum about having wanted to go for a swim, but staying here with the guys while they’re on the topic of their latest prank doesn’t excite him either. He’s gonna have to face Jonny eventually, and evidently he wants to finally talk. 

So he follows Jonny back to where they just came from, up the small footpath that leads right into Sharpy’s backyard. He keeps his eyes glued to his naked back at first, admiring the way his muscles move as he walks. It’s usually so easy to be annoyed with Jonny, but tonight his anger at him seems to disappear every time he looks at him for more than two seconds and takes in the acres of bare skin presented to him. He just wants Jonny back, wants to know they’re alright. 

Apparently Jonny doesn’t feel the need to finally talk about what they did and figure things out though. 

“So, have you thought about your day with the cup yet? Bringing it to Buffalo? Gonna feel good, eh?”

Pat can only stare at him incredulously when their eyes meet as Jonny turns his head around to look at him. 

“Yeah, it’s been the one thing on my mind,” he says, not sure whether Jonny has enough social skills to detect the sarcasm in his voice. It would be a lie to say he hasn’t been thinking of their cup win all day every day ever since May, but it’s not what he wants to discuss with Jonny right now. And he should know this. It should be fucking obvious that they can’t just move on from this like it never fucking happened.

Jonny narrows his eyes at him, like he has as much of a hard time reading Pat as he has reading Jonny tonight. Really?

“Yeah,” Jonny says slowly, and he’s outright ignoring Pat now, choosing to simply look past what he doesn’t understand. “Taking it to Winnipeg will be awesome fore sure.” 

Pat stops him before he can go on about exactly what he’ll do with the cup and how filthy it’ll be. 

“Seriously?” he asks. Jonny has to get this, right? 

He stops walking and kind of throws his hands in the air but then lets them fall down to his sides. Jonny turns around completely now and for a long moment his eyes are searching for something behind Pat’s head. Then he takes a step closer to him and Pat realizes that he had wanted to make sure they’ve gone far enough by now to not be seen. His conclusion to that seems to be yes, since he steps right into Pat’s personal space and lowers his eyes to his. 

Pat’s supposed to be mad at Jonny here, at this whole act of unwavering confidence. At how he seems to simply assume that Pat is gonna want to play footsies with him and let him tantalize him all night with these innocent little touches without Jonny having to say a word. He wishes he could take back everything he’s ever said to Jonny, all the shit about wanting to be his, just so that he wouldn’t feel so damn used by him now. But at the same time, it’s the truth of those exact words that washes over him yet again when Jonny raises his hands to Pat’s face and rests his fingers on his jaw. He still wants to be Jonny’s, no matter how fucked up that is. No matter how little Jonny is willing to give him in return. 

Pat can’t even protest before he finds himself pressed up against Jonny’s naked chest, their crotches almost touching, and fuck, Jonny is still only wearing those thin swimming trunks that cling to his skin. If they were to start something now, Pat could feel everything against the fabric of his jeans and the thought of it makes him dizzy. 

His hands go up to Jonny’s chest out of instinct, maybe to push him off in a second, or maybe just to hold on to him, and he leaves them there because why the fuck not. If Jonny can’t talk to him, not properly that is, then he can at least give him the pleasure of letting him feel his soft skin underneath his fingers. And damn, he’s soft. Still warm from having spent the day in the sun, his muscles moving underneath the skin when he starts rubbing his fingers against Pat’s neck almost lovingly. 

Fuck fuck fuck. He tries to remind himself that he’s mad at Jonny, that he can’t just let him fuck with him again, but his knees are already shaking and he can’t help but fix his gaze to Jonny’s lips. When he starts speaking, he lowers it to his collarbone because seeing his lips move is just too much, but the never ending sight of his naked skin doesn’t really help his aching balls either. 

“Pat,” Jonny breathes. “What is this? I thought…” 

Pat doesn’t find out what Jonny’s thought even though he’s dying to at this point.

He doesn’t protest when Jonny presses his lips against his, almost in slow motion. Instead he makes an embarrassing whiny noise and all but melts against Jonny’s skin. Jonny holds him up as he loses his footing and falls into him, and Pat is glad for it. He opens his lips against Jonny’s and sighs, kissing them over and over again. The urgency and desperation he felt the last time they did this hits him twice as hard as he remembers it and he can’t help but grind his hips up immediately without even taking a moment to second guess himself. He’s been fighting his hard on all night and he’s already trembling with how badly he needs this.

His anger is gone, his annoyance, his determination to get Jonny to talk once they’re alone, to make him drop his fucking act. If it was all just fun to Jonny then he could at least tell him, right? But it doesn’t feel like that’s all it was now. Not when Jonny gasps against his lips and rubs his hips against his in response, his dick already half hard and prominent against Pat’s hipbone. Like he’s been waiting for this too. For the first time tonight Pat is thankful for Jonny’s aversion to clothes.

Pleasure rushes through him in hot waves and he starts rutting against Jonny like he’s forgotten every thought he’s had in the last two weeks. It doesn’t matter how pissed he is at Jonny, all he wants is that friction against his dick, the feeling of Jonny dropping his hands to his ass and pulling him in closer, lifting him up a bit in the process and aligning them just right. 

Jonny’s lips are insistent and hot and so overly eager that Pat doesn’t even need him to say anything any longer. He knows Jonny’s been thinking about this too. There’s no way he hasn’t. He’s so determined, like he spent the last two weeks making a careful plan of what exactly he’s gonna do to Pat. It’s exactly the kind of creepy thing Jonny would do and Pat bites down on his lower lip at the thought. Only it’s not his own lip between his teeth but Jonny’s, and Jonny groans against his mouth in response. 

“Fuck, Peeks,” he breathes into their kiss and Pat’s heart skips a beat. Yes. That’s exactly what he wants. He doesn’t care about anything other than Jonny’s body towering over his, his overwhelming presence almost suffocating him. He all but clings to Jonny’s backside with his fingers, looking for something to hold on to and only pulling Jonny in closer and closer until they’re pressed together as tightly as they can. 

Pat mentally congratulates himself for taking his shirt off before following Jonny to be alone with him. Jonny’s hot body rubbing against his abs, his nipples, making them harden against Jonny’s skin, is easily the best fucking thing in the world. Until Jonny moans and moves one of his hands from his ass to his side, forcing its way between their bodies, and he’s not hesitant this time. He doesn’t even stop to open Pat’s jeans but simply pushes his long fingers inside the fabric of both his jeans and his boxers. 

There’s not enough space for Jonny’s hand inside his pants but Pat still shakes at the touch, at the feeling of Jonny’s fingers searching and rubbing up against him just right, and he’s so damn hard before Jonny has even managed to wrap his hand around him and allow him to fuck up into his tight fist. Pat wants to cry with how good it is, he’s already leaking and still moving against Jonny in any way he can. 

Jonny curses in frustration at the limited space and pulls out his hand before Pat can tell him he’s already close, he’s gonna come just like this if Jonny doesn’t stop. He moves to the button of his jeans in a hurry, and for whatever reason the motion kind of feels like someone abruptly turned the lights on during his favorite Twilight scene. 

Pat opens his eyes and his own hand moves to stop Jonny’s before he even registers what he’s doing. His dick is throbbing in his jeans and he whines even though he’s the idiot here, he’s the one who’s telling Jonny no.

When he moves his head back enough to look at Jonny he can see the confusion in his eyes, and he doesn’t know how to answer it. But he knows he can’t let this happen again. Not if he somehow wants to make it through the upcoming season and save their friendship.

“No fucking way,” he gets out. “No way. You don’t get to...” 

He takes a step back and runs a trembling hand over his mouth. It feels hot and raw and his entire body is still prickling with the sensations of having Jonny’s body pressed against his. 

“What?” 

Jonny’s voice is low and deep and fuck if it doesn’t turn him on even more. Pat doesn’t want to say no, doesn’t want to stop. But he can hear the guys laughing just a short way down the beach as they presumably hit the water. They’re so fucking close, and Jonny hasn’t even waited to do this until they got back to the house. Yeah, Pat kind of hates him for that too.

“You don’t get to fuck with me like that,” he stammers. “Like I’m that easy, just there whenever you feel like it.” 

He knows he doesn’t make sense, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no blood in his brain to help him think, and then he makes the mistake of looking down. Down to where Jonny is rock hard in his tiny shorts, his dick almost popping out of the waistband. 

“I don’t...” Jonny starts, but then he stops mid sentence and Pat realizes that he’s dropped his gaze as well. They’re so fucked, both of them. They shouldn’t get off on seeing each other like this, but apparently they do. 

If it was only that though, then maybe Pat could do it. Pull Jonny into some dark room up at the house, take those fucking shorts off, maybe sink down to his knees this time. If it was just about them getting off and releasing some pressure then that’s what he’d do. But he hasn’t ever wanted anyone this much. Hasn’t ever wanted them to stay after they’re done, to stay in his personal space for fucking ever. 

“Pat, you need to talk to me. You can’t just always assume that I know what you’re on about,” Jonny sighs and his voice trembles a bit. He looks like it physically pains him to look up and away from their straining crotches, but he manages it.

Really? 

“Fuck you, Jonny,” Pat spits, too loudly and with too much heat, and fuck, he didn’t mean to yell at him like that. But it’s true, and so he says it again, more quietly this time. “Fuck you. You’re the one who won’t talk to me.”

Jonny shakes his head and tries to reach out for him again but Pat swats his hand away. 

“You said like three words to me tonight, you weirdo. You’re saying that’s not you ignoring me?”

Pat can tell that Jonny’s trying hard to stay calm but he himself is way past that point. He won’t do this again, he won’t spill his feelings into Jonny’s lap for him to just stare at them with a blank face like he doesn’t want to deal with them.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” he replies and it hurts him just as much as it apparently hurts Jonny. He can see it on his face and makes himself turn around so that he doesn’t have to face him any longer. 

“I’m going back down there,” Pat announces. “Go get the beer, I don’t wanna deal with this.”

And then he walks back down to the beach, leaving Jonny behind. He hates how there’s a giant lump in his throat and his eyes turn all wet and he has to wipe at them in order to not spill tears over his cheeks. His dick is pressing up against his zipper at a painfully awkward angle and he can hear Jonny calling after him but doesn’t turn back around. Hell, he should have never come to Thunder Bay, he thinks. 

 

…

 

It takes Jonny an awfully long time to finally return with a cooler full of beer. After he dumps it in the sand he runs off with Abby again and Pat grabs a beer while staring after them, wondering what the hell they’re on about. But then he decides that he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to care about Jonny any longer. What he wants is to get wasted and forget about all the ways Jonny gets to him. 

He manages the first part, at least. It takes him a while to get more than a buzz going just from beer, but eventually he finds his head spinning and he’s grinning widely and there’s Hoss all over him, drawling some shit in Slovakian. He watches Duncs disappear with both the girls and takes another drink at that. He drinks until he’s pretty sure he understands what Hoss is on about and keeps nodding solemnly. He doesn’t care when Sharpy says he’s gonna check where his wife and Jonny have disappeared to. He’s fine right here, lying in the sand, watching Seabs “tanning” in the moonlight, watching the stars with his teammates.

The second part, forgetting about Jonny, is harder to do. He thinks of him every time he takes a sip of his beer, when his lips tingle and he remembers how Jonny’s mouth has kissed them earlier. He thinks of his stupid face and his even more stupid body and his voice and his hands and fuck, “don’t you think Jonny is like, the best there is?” he hears himself say. 

Hoss mumbles something Pat is pretty sure is a confirmation but it’s definitely not English. Seabs laughs at him and chokes on his own joy before he can reply. 

“On the ice? Like yeah, he’s the face off king.” He keeps going after that but Pat interrupts him. 

“No off it. Off it, Jonny’s like… he’s just so fucking good.” 

He doesn’t know what he’s saying any more. Duncs just laughs at him while Hoss sits up, his bare back full of sand, and shakes his head as if to clear it from all the shit they’ve talked in the last… hour? How long have they even been here? 

Eventually, Jonny comes back. He’s with Sharpy and Abby and they head straight for the water, but Jonny stops by to place a hand on Pat’s shoulder, towering over him as Pat sits down on the ground, and looks him right into the eyes for a second. 

It’s a weird moment they have. Jonny doesn’t say anything, only studies him with a concerned look and then nods, like he decides that yeah, Pat is probably not gonna die from a few beers. Then he turns to follow Sharpy who’s already yelling at him about leaving the drunkards on the shore since he doesn’t want to be responsible for any water corpses near his property.

Pat closes his eyes once Jonny leaves and for the longest time he can see his almost naked body walking towards the water in the moonlight behind his eyelids. He doesn’t know what the others are up to but he’s definitely taking a nap. It’s nice right here where he is, the wind brushing over his face and the sun finally being gone and everything slips away before he realizes it. 

 

...

 

When he wakes up, he’s alone. Or at least he thinks he is. There’s no more talking from the guys, it’s completely silent now and shit, it has to be late. Or early, whatever. The moon has definitely not been right in his face when he closed his eyes a few minutes ago. 

He sits up and looks around only to find Jonny sitting next to him in the sand. He has his eyes closed and his head leaned back as if he had been watching the nightsky until his eyes had gone tired. He’s wearing a shirt now, and even in the dark Pat realizes that it’s his own. The one he’s taken off earlier and thrown carelessly on the ground. It’s a bit tight on him, but Pat likes his Bauer’s to be lose fitting so it hugs Jonny’s abs just right.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he comments and Jonny opens his eyes at that and turns his head.

“You’re awake,” he replies. “Welcome back.”

“Where is everyone?” Pat asks and Jonny only shrugs. 

“Gone to bed? It’s like 4 AM.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Are you done now? Or are you gonna drink until you see your stats at training camp and pass the fuck out?”

Pat doesn’t know why Jonny sounds so mad at him. All he did was have a few beers and fall asleep, right? Jonny on the other hand has a lot more to be sorry for, he thinks. 

“Stop telling me what to do,” he mumbles. “I can only drink when you get wasted with me then? That what it is?” His head is still spinning a bit but he feels more clear now. 

Jonny shakes his head and buries his right hand in the sand between them, his eyes fixed on how it gives in under his fingers. 

“You can do whatever. Just don’t fuck yourself up because of me. If you wanna talk we can talk, there’s no reason to be a dick about it.” 

A second ago Pat wouldn’t have known if he’s sober enough to have this conversation with Jonny, but once he hears his words he knows that he is. 

“Yeah I wanna talk,” he admits. “But like, you gotta go first. Just tell me what the hell you’re thinking.”

Jonny looks up at him and he honestly looks so lost that Pat feels a bit bad for him. He’s so fucking bad at this. Maybe they both are, sure, maybe Pat shouldn’t have called Jonny an asshole and run off to down a dozen beers, but at least they had been words. 

“I’m thinking...” Jonny starts. “I’m thinking that I don’t know what the fuck I did wrong. I was looking forward to you coming here, seeing you. And then you show up and act all weird and can’t stand to look at me. Just tell me what I did.”

Pat rubs his eyes trying to understand how anyone’s mind could work in such simple ways. It’s not that Jonny is dumb, he’s just so straightforward sometimes and Pat doesn’t even understand how he does it. 

“You thought you can just nod and say thank you when people tell you they’re into you? Your best friend tells you he wants to fuck you and that’s nothing to you? Just ‘sure, whatever, let’s go’?” He imitates Jonny’s disinterested voice, Canadian vowels and all, as he says it. Then he has to get up because seriously, there’s so much stupidity between the two of them right now he needs to somehow get away from it. 

“Let’s go for a swim,” he decides before Jonny can answer him. He’s not running away from this, but he needs a second on his own, a moment to collect his thoughts while he walks up to the water and Jonny hasn’t followed him yet. He takes off his shoes and then opens his jeans. Jonny shows up next to him when he’s about to pull them down together with his boxers.

“Pat,” he starts, but then he shuts up when Pat pulls down his pants. He makes sure to look right at Jonny when he does it and can see Jonny swallowing. 

“Come on,” he demands. 

The water feels nice and cool around his ankles and he walks in without taking another look at Jonny. It scares him a bit how dark the lake around him is, how he can’t see anything, but he knows he won’t be alone for long. Jonny is gonna be right on his heels. 

And sure enough, he can hear Jonny dropping his clothes in the sand and following him in just a second later. And then they’re standing next to each other, the water splashing around their waistlines, the sand underneath their feet soggy and cool, and they’re both naked and full of questions and Pat doesn’t really know how this will end. He just knows he has to occupy himself somehow while he talks to Jonny about this, can’t just sit around on the beach and watch his heart being smashed to pieces by him. 

“You can’t honestly think it was nothing to me,” Jonny says into the dark. “Is that what this is about? You think I don’t care?”

Pat shrugs his shoulders. “Not like you ever said anything. You sent me pictures of mountains.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Jonny asks, and he does it in the monotone way that drives Pat crazy. “Start a conversation about this through text while we’re not even in the same goddamn country? I thought it could wait. And more importantly, I thought we were on the same page. I didn’t know you needed me to say anything this badly, okay?”

It’s not okay. But he doesn’t know how to tell Jonny that without giving him more ammunition, more confessions that he’s not gonna get a reply to. 

“Whatever,” he says, and this time Jonny groans and grabs him by the arm. He thinks Jonny is gonna say something to him as he looks at him for a long moment, but then he can feel him push against his chest and he stumbles backwards, loses his footing, and the world goes silent as he goes under.

He reaches for Jonny before he has even fully resurfaced for the water, grabbing for his arms and chest and pushing him back. But Jonny stays standing. He simply takes a few steps backwards, until the water reaches his chest, and places his hands on top of Pat’s. He’s smiling now, and somehow that helps. 

“Peeks. Don’t ‘whatever’ me,” he begs while Pat coughs and spits out the water he’s swallowed. “So you want me to say I care? Of course I do. I thought about what happened every day after you left.”

“Because there’s no one you can fuck in Winnipeg.” 

The words are out before Pat can rethink them and he regrets it instantly. Jonny’s face turns dark and he takes a step away from Pat. But he’s started now so it doesn’t really matter, he might as well throw it all out there, regrets be damned. 

“That’s what it was, right? You were drunk and horny and got off on me wanting you. Because you’re that self absorbed. You got off on me saying you’re mine, because me wanting you means that you won. About the whole tattoo thing. You won and it turned you on, that’s it. And you planned on just going on like that, just knowing I’m into you, jizzing yourself over it.”

For a second Jonny looks like he’s gonna turn around and leave and drag this whole thing between them out forever. But he doesn’t. Instead he takes a deep breath, walks towards Pat, and drops his hands underneath the dark water. Pat jumps when he wraps them around his waist and pulls him in until their bodies are pressing close together.

“That’s bullshit,” Jonny says. He lifts his hands again and buries his hands in Pat’s curls to pull his head towards him almost roughly. “Where do you even come up with that sort of crap? There was nothing to win, you’re not the fucking Stanley Cup. I went along with the tattoo stuff because it made you finally admit you wanted this. And I needed you to.”

Pat swallows hard. Yet again, he doesn’t remember why he’s mad at Jonny. Not when their bodies are touching everywhere and he’s holding on to Jonny's shoulders to even stay standing. And yeah, he should really give him more shit for being an awful human being, but somehow it doesn’t matter because he gets to be close to Jonny like this and that’s all he wants. All he ever wanted. 

“But you never said it back,” he says quietly. “All the things I said to you.” He realizes how stupid it sounds the second the words are out. 

“Like how I want you too? How you’re mine? I thought you already knew that. I’ll say it if you want me to, but...” 

Jonny's eyes are huge and dark and so fucking intense, there's no way he's not giving Pat his everything right now. God, they are both so damn stupid. So Pat silences him with a kiss. He presses his lips to Jonny's and feels everything Jonny's been silently saying for months in the way he leans in immediately, his lips parting, letting Pat in. 

Maybe he hasn't said it back, but Pat can feel it now, the way Jonny's been claiming him for a long time, maybe even from the very beginning. He thinks of all the times Jonny's looked at him funny, that he's slid into his personal space, that he's teased him on the ice, yelled at him in the locker room and gotten way too emotional over Pat's drinking habits. The way he watches out for him when they're out with the boys, his arms always around his shoulders, the way he always brings a second gatorade in Pat's favourite flavour. The way he now shivers underneath the insistent pressure of Pat's lips.

Fuck, Jonny's been into this the entire time. Into him. He hasn't thrown a love declaration at Pat, hasn't sung him a love song, but he's been telling him for forever. Pat gasps when the realization of how real this is hits him and he presses closer to Jonny automatically. He gets to have this, gets to have him. 

So he takes it. He stumbles into Jonny with too much force, almost knocking him over, but Jonny catches himself the last second. Jonny moans into their kiss and the sound of it goes straight to Pat's groin. It had been good when they had done this earlier today, but it's twice as good now that Pat knows it's real. Knows that he gets to Jonny on more than one level. He smiles into their kiss at the thought.

It makes Pat tremble with emotion when he finally gets to touch Jonny after a long day of staring at his bare chest. He runs his fingers over his wide shoulders, his firm muscles, and grazes one of his nipples with his thumb. Jonny shudders against him, gives another moan, and claws at his back, his hips bucking up against Pat's, and fuck, how did Pat not get it the first time? How did he spend his whole summer doubting what they have? 

When he could have called Jonny and asked him what he was wearing, could have sent him pictures of himself tanning in the nude. He's wasted two whole weeks thinking he had just ruined their friendship when he could have had it all. When Jonny had been right there, wanting exactly what he did. Pat can feel it in the way Jonny's body takes over his, making him feel hot despite the cool water around them, making his skin tingle and his breath hitch.

He whines and pushes his hips forward against Jonny’s hardening dick, and fuck, it feels so good to know Jonny's as into this as he is. He rubs his thumb against Jonny's nipple again in an attempt to make him let out another one of those sounds and succeeds. Jonny sounds almost pained and his hand goes down to Pat's ass, holding him in place as he ruts against him.

The water is splashing around their chests, adding to the sensations on Pat's skin and making every touch feel charged. He opens his mouth to tell Jonny just this, how fucking good it feels, but then he bites down on his lip, swallowing the words. 

"Come on, Pat," Jonny urges him. "Talk to me. You weren't quiet the last time." 

Of course he'd pick up on the way Pat bites his lips in an attempt to stay quiet. 

Pat shakes his head. "Like hell am I gonna, oh fuck," he hisses when Jonny bucks his hips forward and aligns their dicks just right so that they're pressing hotly together now. There's not a single piece of clothing between them and Pat would swear he can feel Jonny's foreskin catching on his own dickhead. 

"Gonna what?" Jonny gasps. "Tell me you like this?"

Pat only nods before he drops his head to Jonny's shoulder and bites down on it. His balls are heavy and he's sure that underwater he's leaking precome all over Jonny's dick. He can't stop moving against him either, falling into a desperate rhythm that's gonna get him there too soon. 

"Need me to go first again?" Jonny gasps at a particularly rough thrust against Pat's hips that has him cursing. 

"You feel so fucking good, Peeks," he gasps, and it all but kills Pat. "So hard for you, so fucking hot." They're not even real sentences, but they make Pat gasp and whine against Jonny’s shoulder and he's falling way too fast here without being able to stop. 

But while Jonny's hard dick against him feels like absolute heaven, rubbing against his own frantically now, he wants something more this time. He wants to hear Jonny make these noises again, make him fall apart under his touch. He needs him to come first again. So he drops his hands lower, down Jonny's back and over the smooth skin of his ass. He can feel Jonny tensing underneath him but he doesn't stop him, not even when Pat slides two fingers between his cheeks. 

Pat has no idea what he's doing but he'd be a liar if he said he hasn't been thinking about doing this. Hell, if he got really drunk then maybe he'd even admit to Jonny that he's done this to himself that one time when he got really fucking desperate. It hadn't felt like much, the angle had been off and his fingers not long enough, or maybe the position had been wrong, but it's not something he's ever tried again. So he's not sure how much this will actually do for Jonny. But it's the only thing he can think of doing to take Jonny by surprise here. And he's willing to take those chances. 

So he licks into Jonny's mouth while he slides two of his fingers lower still, in between the heat behind Jonny's tight balls, and presses down in an attempt to locate what he's looking for. He's definitely not great at this, but Jonny still tenses up in anticipation underneath his touch. He stops kissing him back and merely pants into his mouth, his hands almost gripping Pat's hips too tightly now. When Pat pulls back a bit to look at him, he realizes Jonny's eyes are wide open, staring down at him with something so vulnerable in them that Pat's heart skips a beat.

It's stops being about holding power over Jonny then. Pat couldn't care less about who said what and how he doesn't want to come first and needs to see how into this Jonny really is. All he wants is for Jonny to feel good. So he stops holding back and lets his swollen lower lip go to open his mouth.

"You want this?" he whispers. It doesn't matter if Jonny can hear how far gone he is, how much he affects him. He can tell what it does to Jonny too, without him having to say it. He can see Jonny swallowing hard before nodding. He can tell Jonny's making himself say the word out loud when he says "yes". 

"Yeah?" Pat asks again, even more quiet this time, as his index finger brushes over Jonny's hole. His dick jumps at the sound Jonny makes at the touch and he shuts his eyes for a brief second. But then he opens them again because the sight of Jonny like this, of all the overwhelming emotion in his eyes, is just too rare for him to miss. "You done this before?"

Jonny lets out an incomprehensible sound at the question, and yeah, maybe Pat shouldn't have used that exact moment to push the very tip of his index finger inside of him. He's tight, so fucking tight, and Pat realizes immediately that they won't be able to go much further without anything to help them along. But this'll do, he thinks. He could probably come listening to Jonny moan, watching his face glow up with something between sensual overload and surprise. 

"Tried, but..." Jonny gets out, but then he bites his lower lip when Pat pushes in just a little bit further. His muscles contract around his finger and Pat pushes his hips forward to trap Jonny's dick against his hip again. It forces another moan out of Jonny and as his hips move forward to meet Pat's, Pat's finger moves inside him in a way that make him shudder again. "Never wanted it this bad," he breathes. "Never felt like this, fuck."

Pat’s face is burning up with how much heat rushes to his cheeks at his words, at the image that comes to his mind. He wants to see Jonny like that, touching himself, lost to the pleasure he’s giving himself with his fingers. Fuck, he wants to see Jonny, period. As much as the splashing cool water around them heightens his senses, it also makes him blind to the perfection that is Jonny’s dick and probably his hole.

“Ever fucked on a beach?” he asks, and he can somehow feel the vibrations of Jonny’s groan and following laugh in his ass. He rubs his finger in again and makes Jonny hiss. 

“Nice one, Kaner,” Jonny rolls his eyes at him. But then he moves back a bit, letting Pat’s finger slip out of him easily. Before Pat can protest he walks into him and towards the beach, forcing Pat to either be pushed over by his bossy captain or to hold on to him. Jonny’s hands find his hips to keep him from falling and lift him up effortlessly in the water. Pat’s weight would probably also not cause him any effort if they did this in the locker room instead, but Pat won’t admit how he’s thought about Jonny pushing him up against a wall.

He immediately wraps his legs around Jonny’s waist and loves the feeling of it, of Jonny’s strong body holding him up as he starts walking, but he has to complain anyways. The way it makes his head spin how Jonny’s large hands cover almost his entire lower back as he holds him close is embarrassing.

“I’m not one of your girlfriends,” he says, but there’s no heat behind his words. 

“No,” Jonny agrees. “You’re better.”

And yeah, Pat kind of regrets that he’s made Jonny talk now, if that’s the kind of shit he’s going to say to him. It makes his dick jump and his lips find Jonny’s against his own will. 

Jonny puts him down as soon as they hit the beach, and Pat swallows a whine and crowds into Jonny’s body, ready to just push him over into the sand and finish what he’s started. Jonny shakes his head and grins. 

“Tent,” he orders. 

“Can’t have Sharpy know how much I fuck you up, can you?” Pat says, and he knows he sounds like a douche but can’t help it. Jonny squirms at that and gives him a weird look before he turns around and walks over to the tent he’s slept in last night to unzip it and climb through the opening. 

“Taze?” Pat asks and stares at Jonny’s ass until he can’t see him anymore and has to follow him. “What’s that? Hold on hold on hold on.” 

He rushes to follow Jonny into the tent to find him kneeling on a single air mattress that looks too small for his size. 

“Does Sharpy know? Did you fucking…?”

Jonny actually grabs a pillow and pulls it over his crotch, like suddenly he’s weirded out by being naked in front of Pat. Naked and hard and fuck, they had been on to something here. But Pat just can’t ignore the face Jonny makes. He can’t really see in it the dark, but it’s the face that is usually accompanied by a blush creeping up his neck. Shit. Sharpy knows. 

“It kind of came up,” Jonny shrugs. “I spent three whole days with him and Abby, and like I said, it’s not like I haven’t thought of… you.” He looks down at Pat’s erection at his last word. 

“You fucker,” Pat huffs. Not in anger but in disbelief. “You talk to fucking Sharpy about it but not to me? Sharpy and his fucking wife?”

He climbs over and into Jonny’s lap again though. He’s done being mad at Jonny for being an asshole. He wants to touch him now, finally get him off and then lean back and feel Jonny’s mouth on him. So he presses his lips to Jonny’s when he opens his mouth to reply.

It doesn’t take much to work them up this time and Pat pushes Jonny backwards after only a few seconds. He pushes that stupid pillow out of the way, has never wanted it there to begin with, and continues his quest of making Jonny fall apart under his fingers. Jonny’s hole flutters at Pat’s touch now, like he’s ready for him, wet all over and tense and so fucking smooth and soft. Pat pushes the tip of his finger back inside and can feel Jonny’s dick brushing his thigh in response. 

He brings his fingers up to his mouth to lick them and make this easier for both of them, so much better, and freezes when he pushes his hand down between their bodies again.

It’s dark, but the moon outside provides them with enough light for Pat to just be able to see that tiny black mark right where Jonny’s leg meets his hip. 

No. No no no. He didn’t. 

Pat leans forward until his face is almost lined up with Jonny’s thick erection, but for once he doesn’t care. The only thing he cares about is how there’s two little numbers inked into Jonny’s perfectly hairless skin. 

“No way,” he gasps and Jonny’s hips tense underneath the brush of air against them. 

“Told you I was thinking about you,” Jonny shrugs. Pat can tell how he’s trying to sound casual while his body grows even more tense. There’s that look on his face again when Pat finally looks up at him, the same one he got earlier when Duncs had brought up their tattoo prank. Of course he had felt uncomfortable. Because it’s no longer a joke. 

Pat drops his gaze again and brings his fingers to the tiny mark. It’s hardly as big as the nail of his thumb, but it’s right there. He rubs the pad of his index fingers over it as if to make it go away, but of course it doesn’t. Jonny’s not the kind of guy to be half in and half out. He’s awful like that, go big or go home. He got Pat’s 88 tattooed on his body. And not just anywhere. Holy fuck. 

Pat has to grab the base of his dick to stave off the wave of heat that rushes through him, the way his balls pull up and a drop of precome drips onto Jonny’s thigh. It makes Jonny let out a rush of breath, almost as if in relief. 

“You like it,” he sighs. “Fuck, you’re so into it.”

“Is that why you got it?” Pat asks, disbelief heavy in his voice. 

“No.” Jonny lifts a hand to Pat’s face almost tenderly. “I got it because the day you left for Buffalo, Chicago didn’t feel like home anymore. All I wanted was to call you and tell you I booked a flight for the next day to follow you. I don’t know why, but after the cup, after us, everything was just perfect. I finally felt like I could take a breather for once, like there was nothing to work for, nothing to go after. It was all right there. You and hockey, that’s all I’ll ever want. All I’ll ever love, I guess. And I want to remember how it felt, knowing that it was all good for a second there. That everything I loved, loved me back, made me happy. Fuck, I guess I just got a bit hung up on how you kept saying you’re mine.”

Pat kind of misses the right moment to take his hand off of his dick. And it’s too late now to awkwardly put it somewhere else and search for words that aren’t going to be good enough anyways. Not after Jonny’s gone there. So he does what he wants to do most anyways. He leans forward and rubs the tip of his dick against the ink underneath Jonny’s skin, slicking it up with the wetness he’s dripping by now. He watches the head of his cock rub against that 88 and lets out a throaty moan at the sight. 

He works his dick slowly but tightly, the steady pressure against his tip provided by Jonny’s hips makes his head spin. But it’s nothing compared to that image, those words ringing in his head. He’s panting hard, letting out little gasps and moans, and Jonny’s dick is straining against his hip still, but he ignores it. He needs to come, needs to rub his load into the tattoo of his number, his 88, right there on Jonny’s skin. 

“Oh fuck,” he groans and brings his other hand up to steady himself against Jonny’s shoulder. He can feel how Jonny’s trembling underneath him as he watches Pat’s hand work over his glistening dick slowly enough for him to catch every throb of the veins, every bead of precome dripping onto Jonny’s inked skin. 

The sight of his own cock rubbing against that 88 would probably be enough to make him come, and no matter how slow Pat goes, it hits him way too soon. He lets out another moan as he feels his balls draw up and simply presses himself against Jonny’s hip as it rushes over him in a hot burst of pleasure and wonder. It’s not fast, not urgent, but Pat still cries out in pleasure and bites his own lip as he watches his come splattering over Jonny’s ink. 

“Fuck,” he moans again and brings his thumb to the tattoo to carefully rub the white spurts into it. “I hope this is all healed up.” He loses his voice as he speaks, his throat closing up with how fucked up this is. How much he loves Jonny and how he can’t believe this is a thing. His 88 on him. 

When Jonny doesn’t give him a reply, Pat looks up at his face and he almost comes again at how his eyes are burning dark and hot, how he has his lower lip between his teeth. When he drops his gaze to his dick, he wonders how Jonny hasn’t come yet. He’s throbbing against Pat’s leg, hot and hard and grown so thick Pat doesn’t even know how Jonny’s still holding on here. 

“I got you,” he says and Jonny lets out a sharp breath at his words. “Fuck, I love you Jonny.”

Pat moves down Jonny’s thighs until he can get his mouth on him but stops right before his lips actually touch his aching cock. He hears Jonny whine and runs his fingers over his balls slowly enough to make him curse and push his hips up in frustration. Then he pushes the tip of his index finger back against Jonny’s hole at the same time as he swallows him down. 

Pat’s no expert here, but he knows he’s doing something right when Jonny groans and throws his arm over his face at the contact. He sloppily lifts his mouth up and sinks back down. The only thing he really cares for is that he doesn’t let his teeth scrape Jonny’s pulsing length. When he does it again, Jonny starts spilling out curses in French and Pat feels him grow impossibly harder in his mouth right before he spills and shoots hot come down Pat’s throat. 

He’ll later tell Jonny it’s not as bad as he thought it would be, play it down. But the reality is he always kind of knew he’d be into tasting Jonny’s come on his tongue. He’ll tell Jonny all kinds of other things that are true though. Like how he loves him, probably. Or how there’s no way he’ll get a 19 tattooed on him in return. He’d sooner get an 88 himself only to mess with him. But for now he only wants to kiss him until neither of them can breathe anymore. So he does just that.

 

…

 

Jonny, it turns out, not only told Sharpy and Abby about their private post cup celebration, he’s whined to them about missing Pat for three whole days. The two of them give a simultaneous sigh of relief when they see Jonny holding Pat’s hand the next morning, proud and nervous, but mostly just with the same winning and possessive smile he’d worn when he had lifted the cup. Pat rolls his eyes at him but doesn’t even think of letting go of him. 

He keeps quiet about the tattoo. It’s enough for Jonny to endure listening to Abby tell Pat all about his lovesick monologues that had kept the fish away from their bait. He knows that the guys might find out once they pick up the season, but he doesn’t care. He’s not a filthy secret. He’s Jonny’s boyfriend, and the thought of that being inked into Jonny’s skin does a lot more than just turn him on.


End file.
